COLLECTED  POEMS 


condE  benoist  fallen 


■i'i 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/collectedpoemsOOpallrich 


COLLECTED  POEMS 


COLLECTED  POEMS 


BY 

CONDE  BENOIST  FALLEN 


NEW  YORK 

P.  J.  KENEDY  &  SONS 

1915 


copyright,  1915,  by 
cond£  benoist  fallen 


THE-PIIMPTON-PRESS 
NORWOOD-MASS-U'S'A 


TO  THEODORA 

TO  thee,  God's  gift,  in  whom  all  gifts  unite. 
In  token  of  thy  gift  of  love  to  me, 
Who  feels  that  he  receives  unworthily, 
I  offer  up  this  sheaf  of  songs,  though  slight 
Their  worth,  and  poorer  still  the  singer  be. 
Yet  Love  through  me  a  fervent  message  sent; 
And  I  with  feeble  voice  made  faint  reply, 
As  reeds  to  summer  breezes  passing  by 
Breathe  out  a  quavering  music,  humbly  bent 
Beneath  the  song,  a  trembling  instrument. 
But  thou,  accepting  these  poor  leafless  lays, 
Wilt  make  amend  for  all  imperfectness, 
As  great  ones  taking  in  the  taking  bless. 
And  m  receiving  render  highest  praise. 


c\    *  r^  4  r\  i\ 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  New  Rubaiyat 1 

A  Song  of  Sixpence 19 

Benediction 21 

A  Fable  for  Lydia 23 

Treasure  Trove 28 

Life 29 

Maria  Immaculata 30 

Love  and  Death 37 

Ode  for  Georgetown  University     .     .  47 

Amaranthtjs 60 

Youth 67 

Aspiration 72 

Poet  and  Bird 74 

In  Circe's  Den 76 

On  the  Death  of  Alfred  Tennyson     .  79 

Arise,  America! 81 

The  Raising  of  the  Flag 84 

The  Babe  of  Bethlehem  .....  88 

Love  Sole 90 

The  Burden 92 

How  Poets  Play 93 

vii 


CONTENTS 

The  Lower  Bough   .......  94 

Heaven 95 

Carmen  Nuptials 96 

Sonnets 97 

Retrogression 99 

The  Poet's  Fane 100 

The  Babe 101 

The  Sonnet 103 

Anarchy 105 

Vanitas    Vanitatum 106 

Love's  Fruit 108 

March 109 

April 110 

Christus  Triumphans Ill 

Sonnet  Sequence 113 

The  Death  of  Sir  Launcelot     .     .     .121 

AGLAfi 149 

The  Feast  of  Thalarchus      ....  187 


viu 


THE  NEW  RUBAIYAT 

Wisdom  is  easily  seen  hy  them  that  love  her,  and  is  found  by 
them  that  seek  her.  For  she  goeth  about  seeking  su^h  as 
are  worthy  of  her,  and  she  showeth  herself  cheerfully  in  the 
ways,  and  meeteth  them  with  all  providence.  .  .  . 

WISDOM,  VI. 


THE  NEW  RUBAIYAT 

Old  Omar,  subtle  weaver  of  the  skein 
Of  doubt  entangled  in  thy  muddled  brain 
In  that  far  East  which  saw  thy  distant  day, 
This  later  hour  awakes  thy  voice  again, 

And  in  a  newer  tongue  recasts  the  phrase. 
That  doubled  glibly  in  thine  olden  ways 
On  life  and  death  and  those  dark  questionings 
Which  doubt  may  answer  not,  though  doubt  may 
raise. 

This  newer  vase  that  holds  thine  ancient  wine 
Is  rich  with  lines  as  gracious  as  were  thine, 
As  delicately  graved,  as  featly  traced 
With  clinging  tendril  of  the  worshipped  vine. 

Nor  deem  I  that  the  pouring  of  thy  song 
From  old  to  newer  vessel  does  thee  wrong; 
For  deft  the  hand  that  fashioned  the  new  clay, 
A  master^s  hand,  and,  as  a  master's,  strong. 
3 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Nor  strange  that  he  should  seek  thine  unfaith  out, 
Who  felt  a  kindred  sympathy  in  doubt 
In  this  wild  day  when  creeds  have  crumbled  down, 
Blown  like  the  dust  of  simoons  'round  about. 

For  that  old  plaint  which  sickened  thy  soft  soul, 
And  to  thy  lips  held  up  the  poisoned  bowl 
Made  luscious  with  the  nectars  of  the  sense, 
Still  sings  your  song  and  echoes  all  its  dole. 

And  though  his  noisy  doubt  the  newer  man 
Boast  as  fresh  light  upon  the  marching  van 
Of  progress  to  the  piping  fife  of  change, 
Your  doubt  was  ancient  ere  his  doubt  began. 

For  you,  as  he,  sang  faith  and  unfaith's  strife. 
And    he,   as  you,  chants  death  the  bourne  of 

life; 
He  now,  as  you  a  thousand  years  ago. 
Into  the  heart  of  faith  drives  deep  the  knife. 

Thy  dubious  hand  upon  the  shifting  scale 
Touched  every  trembling  note,  drew  every  wail. 
Sounded  each  plauit  and  struck  each  quivering 

chord; 
He  now  as  you  of  old  —  to  what  avail? 
4 


The    NEW    RUBAIYAT 

As  dark  a  riddle  is  that  silent  fate 
To  the  blind  sceptic  of  this  later  date, 
As  ever  answered  not  to  thy  light  word, 
Who  asked  in  dalliance  at  the  outer  gate. 

For  truth  speaks  only  at  the  inner  shrine, 
Not  in  the  tavern  where  they  spill  the  wine; 
Pours  only  through  the  cleansed  and  chastened 

sense 
The  cryptic  sweetness  of  the  living  vine. 

To  list  thy  lilting  numbers'  softened  strain, 
And  hear  it  chiming  with  the  rhythmed  pain 
Thy  later  brothers  plaint  on  modern  lutes. 
Wakes  smiling  comment  on  their  little  gain. 

Alas,  that  you  in  mediaeval  years 

Sang  all  their  doubts,  shed  all  their  hopeless 

tears. 
Their  creedless  creed  in  all  its  changes  rang. 
And  coined  their  wisdom  in  your  shallow  fears. 

Science  but  now,  they  cry  with  echoing  bruit. 
Has  plucked  the  higher  wisdom's  ripened  fruit. 
Achieved  the  summit  of  a  nobler  view. 
And  struck  in  wider  knowledge  deeper  root. 
5 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Yet  all  the  garnered  learning  of  the  age 
Has  added  not  a  tittle  to  your  page; 
Of  that  first  truth  and  last  the  soul  desires 
Your  word  as  wise  as  theirs,  your  wit  as  sage. 

Your  wit  and  theirs  both  dark  as  starless  night, 
Searching  the  universe  with  candle-light, 
Agrope  within  the  same  abyss  of  dread. 
Where  depth  grows  black  with  depth  and  height 
with  height. 

In  vain  they  seek,  as  vain  you  sought,  the  clue, 
Where  doubt  makes  mocking  shadows  of  the  true. 
Dissolves  the  answer  in  the  question's  breath. 
The  doubt  that  asks  from  doubt  that  never 
knew. 

And  echo  questioned  back  the  mockery  flings. 
And  doubt  that  asks  of  doubt  with  unfaith  rings; 
Responsive  to  the  fingers  wail  the  strings, 
And  as  you  key  the  patient  chord,  it  sings. 

You  drew  the  music  of  your  plaintive  strain 
From  the  sore  grief  of  Philomel's  sad  pain, 
But  dashed  the  sweetness  of  her  chastened  song 
With  doubt,  and  poisoned  all  its  balm  with  bane. 
6 


The    NEW    RUBAIYAT 

You  sang,  and  sadly  sweet  your  olden  rhyme, 
The  fleeting  footsteps  of  the  phantom  time. 
The  dying  sweetness  of  the  hastening  rose, 
Life's  transient  blush  undone  by  death's  swift 
crime. 

Yea,  vanity  in  him,  who  lays  up  store 
Of  hope  to  reap  his  harvest  on  time's  shore. 
And  sowing  all  the  fields  that  lie  around. 
Prepares  the  granary  and  the  threshing  floor. 

Ah,  swift  the  courses  of  the  rushing  sun. 

And  changeful  are  the  glittering  hours  that  run 

Twixt    hope's    first    blossom    and    the    blown 

flower. 
For  evening  sees  not  what  the  morn  begun. 

And  Caesar's  dust  beneath  a  peasant's  feet. 
For  wisdom's  eloquence  were  theme  replete. 
How  levelled  by  the  sweeping  scythe  of  time, 
Fame  and  unfame  in  one  oblivion  meet. 

So  has  the  ages'  wisdom  ever  sung, 
And  from  earth's  hollow  glories  wailing  rung 
The  tribute  of  its  dole;  not  new  your  song. 
Nor  new  the  lesson  of  your  mellow  tongue. 

7 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Though  Jamshyd  long  has  quaffed  the  last  black 

draught, 
And  Caesar,  smitten  by  the  bitter  shaft 
That  pricked  his  glory's  bubble,  heedless  sleeps, 
Their  dust  but  shallow  soil  for  wisdom's  graft. 

The  rose  you  sing  from  Caesar's  clay  that  blows 

Like  Caesar's  glory  for  an  instant  shows. 

And    crumbles   back   to    that   from   whence   it 

bloomed; 
From  dust  it  came  and  into  dust  it  goes. 

Mortal  to  mortal  is  the  primal  law. 

Earth  back  to  earth  again  the  whole  world's  saw: 

Mortality  is  written  broad  and  deep. 

And  fools  that  run  the  easy  lesson  draw. 

Yes,  easy  is  the  folly  that  seems  wise. 
And  cloaks  short  knowledge  in  a  long  disguise; 
Easy  the  truth  that  time  is  swift  of  flight. 
The  flower  that  blooms  to-day,  to-morrow  dies. 

Easy  to  drown,  the  heedless  cup  within, 
The  gruesome  memory  of  the  death  and  sin. 
That  racked  the  soul  with  their  black  question- 
ings, 
And  as  unbidden  guests  of  old  stalked  in. 
8 


The    NEW    RUBAIYAT 

Nor  you  the  first,  nor  last,  to  thrust  them  out 
And  welcome  in  their  place  a  reeling  rout 
Who  drink  and  question  not,  but  steep  in  floods 
Of  mellow  vintage  all  the  ghosts  of  doubt. 

Brief  wisdom  and  short  triumph  your  poor  plot 
To  cheat  the  destiny  the  years  allot 
By  drowning  memory  in  a  shallow  cup;  — 
Though  now  forgetting,  you  are  not  forgot. 

And  while  you  wander  in  a  vinous  mist 
Through  roseate  ways  as  your  soft  pleasures  list, 
The  spinner  Time  still  plies  his  tireless  loom, 
And  you  and  Death  are  drawing  to  the  tryst. 

What  answer  then  in  that  appointed  place, 
When  he  breathes  cold  upon  your  yellowing  face, 
What  answer  echoing  from  the  empty  cup? 
Remorse  within  the  lees,  think  you,  or  grace? 

To-day  the  chosen  mistress  of  your  lot. 
To-morrow  banned  and  yesterday  forgot: 
Lo,  YESTERDAY  accuses  from  the  dead;  — 
To-morrow  beckons  for  to-day  is  not: 

Fast  running  out  the  limit  of  your  thread. 
To-day  and  yesterday  forever  sped; 
9 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

The  whirling  loom  roars  distantly  and  faint, 
And  all  your  years  are  ashes  with  the  dead. 

So  careful  of  the  present  and  its  joys, 
Hoarding  like  children  all  the  broken  toys; 
The  little  wrecks  now  strew  the  dusty  floor, 
And  you  forgotten  with  your  childish  noise. 

So  careful  now  within  your  eager  hands 
That  not  a  grain  shall  waste  of  time's  swift  sands- 
The  very  grain  you  clutch  has  trickled  through ; 
To-day  holds  not  what  yesterday  demands. 

To-day  but  borrows  what  to-morrow  lends. 
And  pays  to  yesterday  what  now  it  spends. 
And  debtor  still  with  nothing  of  its  own 
A  bankrupt  in  the  hands  of  Death  it  ends. 

Why  stake  on  nothingness  the  all  you  own. 
And  cast  life's  ashes  to  the  whirlwind  blown? 
He  loses  time  who  builds  on  time  alone, 
And  nothing  shall  be  reaped  from  nothing  sown. 

What  boot  the  pleasures  of  a  century's  run. 
If  all  their  sweets  but  end  where  they  begun 
In  that  swift  nothing  of  an  instant's  flight, 
A  prize  that's  lost  before  the  prize  is  won. 
10 


The    NEW    RUBAIYAT 

The  years  gone  down  into  the  gaping  tomb 
Of  YESTERDAY  are  dream  wastes  in  the  gloom, 
Dim  wraiths  of  time  embraced  but  never  held, 
Visions  that  stare  from  out  an  ancient  room. 

Sum  up  their  all  and  hoard  your  empty  gain: 
Hope  crushed  by  fear,  joy  strangled  in  the  pain. 
Life  smote  by  death  at  every  baffled  turn, 
Dying  to  live  and  then  to  die  again. 

And  when  upon  the  darkened  verge  you  stand, 
Where  life's  faint  stream  is  lost  in  death's  quick 

sand, 
What  garnered  treasure  do  the  senses  hold? 
An  eyeless  skull  within  a  fleshless  hand. 

Who  turns  all  things  to  uses  of  the  sense 
Shall  glean  in  sense  his  only  recompense; 
For  time  abused  shall  be  by  time  avenged; 
Life  sown  in  death  shall  reap  in  impotence. 


You  tell  us  that  you  turned  from  Wisdom's  door, 
Sifting  the  heaped-up  rubbish  on  the  floor 
Of  learning's  vestibule,  but  found  no  key; 
And  was  the  portal  locked  —  are  you  so  sure? 
11 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Think  you  that  thus  the  road  to  Wisdom  Hes, 
And  on  the  rungs  of  knowledge  men  may  rise 
To  that  pure  empyrean,  as  small  boys 
Plant  little  ladders  to  essay  the  skies? 

Not  all  the  gleaning  of  the  labouring  West, 
Nor  all  the  knowledge  of  the  Orient's  quest 
May  scale  a  single  inch  of  that  far  height: 
Who  seeketh  not  is  he  who  seeketh  best. 

Knowledge  may  reach  from  shining  star  to  star, 
Enthroned  on  three-ringed  Saturn  sit  afar. 
And  still  as  distant  be  from  Wisdom's  house 
As  when  it  beat  against  this  lower  bar. 

The  door  to  which  in  vain  your  key  you  plied, 
The  door  you  found  so  tightly  sealed,  stands  wide 
To  him  who  bends  in  leal  humiUty: 
He  enters  not  who  walks  erect  in  pride. 

You  thought  to  compass  with  your  little  span 

The  wide  abysses  of  creation's  plan, 

And  j&nite  measure  infinite  design; 

You  —  you  would  be  God,  who  are  but  man. 

Believe  th'  Omniscient,  who  ordained  the  law, 
The  end  as  well  as  the  beginning  saw; 
12 


The    NEW    RUBAIYAT 

Trust  thou  th'  Omnipotent,  who  made  the  whole, 
O'errules  it  all:  not  His,  but  yours  the  flaw. 

Heaven  but  countersigns  your  own  decree, 
And  as  you  sow  your  years,  so  shall  they  be : 
This  much  of  fate  is  true,  that  as  you  plant, 
So  shall  you  pluck  the  fruitage  of  the  tree. 

The  daring  mind  that  seeks  to  wholly  sift 
The  heart  of  mystery,  may  never  lift 
The  veil  that  hides  her  face  from  prying  eyes: 
From  Wisdom's  hand  you  cannot  wrest  her  gift. 

Who  would  unchastely  pierce  her  secret  pale 
Shall  find  her  panoplied  in  hardest  mail; 
Who  seeks  to  violate  her  fane  shall  meet 
The  entrance  barred  and  closely  drawn  the  veil. 

The  gathered  lightnings  shall  about  him  play, 
And  thunderous  wrath  shall  fill  his  fearful  way. 
Whose  lustful  eye  would  take  her  face  unveiled; 
The  sacrilege  with  blindness  shall  he  pay. 

The  question  put  the  answer  comes  in  kind : 
Who  seeks  in  simple  faith  in  faith  shall  find 
The  answer;  but  pride  re-echoes  pride. 
And  blind  the  understanding  of  the  blind. 
13 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Who  asks  of  Earth  shall  hear  of  Earth  reply: 
Earth  born  of  earth  in  earth  again  shall  die; 
A  fugitive  your  little  course  you  run, 
And  there  return,  and  there  forever  lie. 

Who  asks  of  Heaven  an  unseen  voice  shall  hear 
Singing  like  chimings  of  the  crystal  sphere 
Of  interstellar  spaces  ringing  clear: 
There  but  a  little  while,  forever  here; 

A  little  while  to  school  the  impatient  soul 
To  read  by  faith  the  riddle  of  the  scroll, 
That  Wisdom  writes  in  hieroglyphs  of  time; 
There  but  the  lesser  part,  and  here  the  whole. 

For  Love  gazed  on  the  Beauty  of  the  Face 
Of  His  Beloved  and  upward  welled  in  grace. 
As  everlasting  fountains  pouring  forth 
Abundant  floods  make  bloom  a  desert  place. 

Love  in  creation's  wondrous  mirror  sought 
To  multiply  the  image  of  His  Thought, 
And  pouring  forth  His  Power  upon  the  void, 
In  Love  the  likeness  of  His  Love  He  wrought. 

And  back  again  as  surging  flames  aspire 
Creation  lifts  to  Love's  eternal  fire; 
14 


The    NEW    RUBAIYAT 

Time  but  the  rushing  of  her  eager  flight 
Upon  the  outstretched  pinions  of  desire; 

Death,  the  instant  of  the  journey  done, 

When  all  the  courses  of  the  way  are  run, 

The  door  through  which  departs  the  passing  guest, 

Who  goes  upon  the  rising  of  the  sun. 

For  Love  devised  the  plan,  and  Love  makes  test 
Of  Faith  to  that  far  end  that  Love  knows  best; 
And  this  the  message  Love  by  Wisdom  sends: 
In  Faith  abide,  and  leave  to  Love  the  rest. 

Divorce  not  Reason  from  thy  failing  house 
To  make  with  concubines  a  vain  carouse. 
But  take  her,  prudent  partner  of  thy  years. 
To  cherish  chastely  as  a  faithful  spouse. 

She,  too,  is  of  celestial  origin. 
And  knows  how  close  to  Faith  she  is  akin, 
Faith,  her  elder  sister,  in  whose  eyes 
Dissolves  the  secret,  death,  the  riddle,  sin. 

For  Reason,  modest  in  her  household  lore. 
Seeks  not  beyond  the  threshold  of  her  door; 
Diviner  truths  in  Wisdom's  utterance  given, 
Takes  from  the  lips  of  Faith,  and  asks  no  more. 
15 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

By  Faith,  and  Faith  alone  in  panic  rout 
The  misbelieving  horde  is  driven  out, 
Fate's  nameless  terror  lifted  from  the  soul, 
Fate,  the  echo  of  the  voice  of  doubt. 

Forgetfulness  in  sense  a  sorry  scheme 
To  cheat  the  conscience  and  make  seem 
The  IS  and  IS  NOT  all  a  phantom  show, 
And  time  the  fading  shadow  of  a  dream. 

For  Reason,  drugged  a  thousand  times  and  more, 
A  ravaged  captive  on  the  tavern  floor. 
Awakes  again  loathing  her  fallen  state. 
And  clamours  for  her  freedom  at  the  door. 

Though  shamed  and  flouted  victim  of  thy  rape, 
She  does  not  die;  and  you  may  not  escape 
Her  importuning  voice,  nor  think  to  end 
The  issue  in  the  lethe  of  the  grape. 


Come  from  the  stifling  tavern's  baleful  glare 
Into  the  sunshine  and  the  outer  air. 
With  gladdened  nature  greeting  everywhere. 
And  looking  up  to  heaven,  see,  how  fair! 

How  pure  the  wide  savannah's  vaulted  sweep. 
One  sapphire  flame  from  glowing  deep  to  deep; 
16 


The    NEW    RUBAIYAT 

This  crystal  cup  hold  to  thy  crackled  lip, 
And  drinking  feel  the  freshened  pulses  leap. 

Drink,  and  clear  the  phantoms  from  thy  brain, 
Cleanse  from  thy  sluggish  blood  the  lecherous  bane 
That  poisoned  all  the  wells  of  life  and  truth; 
Drink!    Look  up !  and  once  again  be  sane. 

With  chastened  sense  and  in  the  cleaner  mind 
Look  in  pure  nature's  eyes,  and  you  shall  find 
A  secret  half  spelled  out  and  half  divined : 
Within  the  emblem  truth  is  not  confined. 

Her  secret  word  a  faint  prefiguring; 
She  speaks  in  shadow  of  a  higher  thing. 
Like  pale  penumbra  of  the  light  unseen. 
The  sun's  veiled  glory  from  an  outer  ring. 

Within  the  deepened  shadow's  darkened  plot 
You  sought  the  source  of  light  and  found  it  not; 
Your  eyes  grew  dim  with  searching  in  the  dark, 
And  blindness  out  of  darkness  was  begot. 

The  shadow  is  but  shade  of  hidden  light; 
It  is  the  sun  by  earth  eclipsed  makes  night: 
Heaven  is  gracious  to  our  little  power. 
And  her  far  secret  tempers  to  our  sight. 
17 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

The  need  of  Faith  from  nature's  secret  learn; 
Reason  from  Faith  and  Faith  from  Love  in  turn 
Draws  life  and  light;  in  One  see  all  else  rest, 
And  in  things  seen  the  things  unseen  discern. 

And  though  thy  years  are  drawing  to  their  close, 
And  youth  and  spring  have  faded  with  the  rose, 
Faith  plucks  the  thorn  of  thy  regret,  and  lo ! 
Upon  the  naked  stem  Hope's  floweret  blows; 

And  all  the  garden  blossoms,  and  the  Vine 

Into  Love's  chalice  pours  diviner  Wine : 

Faith  holds  the  secret  of  the  sacred  sign; 

Her  eyes  search  deep  and  long,  and  make  it  thine. 


18 


A  SONG  OF  SIXPENCE 

Sing  a  song  of  sixpence 
And  a  pocket  full  of  rye!  — 

There  are  millions  in  it 

For  one  with  a  business  eye. 

Then  sing  a  song  of  sixpence 
And  a  pocket  full  of  rye ! 

Ho,  the  jingle  of  the  sixpence!  — 
And  will  you  sell  or  buy? 

The  world  is  full  of  sixpence, 

The  ways  are  strewn  with  rye  — 

And  have  you  then  no  sixpence! 
Better  by  far  to  die. 

The  multitude  of  sixpence, 

The  plenitude  of  rye!  — 
And  yet  I  have  no  sixpence; 

How  poor  are  you  and  I ! 

I  without  a  sixpence 

And  you  without  the  rye  — 
Lo !  Death  on  a  gaunt  black  horse 

Under  an  ebon  sky. 
19 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

You  sing  a  song  of  beauty, 
Your  heart  is  full  of  youth  — 

Whence  have  you  wandered,  friend, 
Into  the  paths  of  ruth? 

I  have,  alas!  no  sixpence. 
And  you,  alas!  no  rye  — 

You  sing  of  life  in  death, 
Of  death  in  life  sing  I ! 

Ho!  there,  on  your  gaunt  black  horse 

Under  the  ebon  sky! 
And  they  sing  their  song  of  sixpence 

And  a  pocket  full  of  rye! 


20 


BENEDICTION 

White  sail  upon  the  distant  blue 

Swift  flying  shallop  with  your  snowy  wings, 
Here  from  the  shore  I  waft  to  you 

A  message  that  a  poet  sings. 

I  bless  you  as  you  fade  afar 

Where  heaving  sea  and  heaven  merge, 
A  faintly  gleaming  silver  star 

Upon  the  trembling  ocean's  verge. 

May  gentle  winds  from  spotless  skies 
And  halcyon  seas  about  you  play. 

And  all  of  Heaven's  guardian  eyes 
Keep  myriad  watch  upon  your  way. 

May  dolphins  spout  their  silvery  brine 
Before  your  swift  melodious  keel, 

And  whitest  suns  upon  you  shine 
As  fleckless  days  about  you  wheel. 

And  when  the  far-off  headland's  slope 

Uprears  its  beaconed  star  above 
And  lights  the  haven  of  your  hope. 

My  blessing  waft  you  to  your  love. 
21 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Oh  happy  be  the  meeting  then 
When  heart  beats  joyous  unto  heart, 

And  from  the  deep  shall  draw  again 
Two  gracious  spirits  long  apart. 

And  may  that  love  in  blessing  prove 
Its  kinship  to  my  distant  prayer; 

Though  all  the  seas  be  my  remove, 
Let  me  your  blessing  share. 

For  as  I  pray  that  blessing  on 
Both  you  and  yours  across  the  sea, 

May  your  fair  Love's  sweet  benison 
In  turn  pour  down  on  mine  and  me. 


22 


A  FABLE  FOR  LYDIA 

Sweet  Love  is  slain!    I  saw  him  at  your  gates 
Prostrate,  ah  me!   upon  th'  ensanguined  ground, 
Slain  too  with  his  own  arrow  and  by  you ! 
What  dreadful  and  most  clamorous  deed 
For  vengeance  this,  O  Fairest  Cruelty, 
Than  Artemis  more  cruel  when  she  slew 
The  children  of  the  tearful  Niobe 
Repentant  of  her  boast. 

Who  would  not  weep 
Save  you,  to  see  him  marbled  there  in  death, 
His  traitrous  arrow  in  his  gaping  wound; 
The  crimson  fountain  of  his  streaming  life 
Poured  out  upon  the  pitying  earth,  his  locks 
Astray  upon  his  alabaster  brow 
With  veiled  eyes  beneath  pale  pencilled  lids, 
Eclipsed  in  darkness. 

Woe,  deep  woe  and  pain 
Divinely  bitter  in  the  breasts  of  all 
The  gods,  and  cloud  about  Olympian  heights 
Heavy  with  sorrow  of  the  brooding  storm; 
23 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

And  direst  wrath  within  Olympian  halls, 
For  that  young  Eros  lies  untimely  dead. 

Zeus  lays  his  hand  upon  his  thunderbolt, 
And  in  the  darkened  caverns  of  his  mind 
Wrath    mutters,   while    at   the   presage   of   his 

frown 
O'er  drooping  eyes  glowing  with  pented  lightnings 
All  heaven  pales,  and  Her6  veils  her  face 
With  trembling  hands. 

Great  Mulciber,  aloft 
His  mighty  hammer  swung  to  smite  and  shatter. 
Stands,  a  statued  rage;  Apollo  starts 
And  grips  his  silver  bow,  one  hand  upon 
His  swiftest  shaft  ablaze  with  restless  fire; 
And  by  him  panoplied  Minerva  lifts 
Her  poisM  spear  keen  with  a  thousand  deaths, 
While  on    her   shield   the  Gorgoned  locks  hiss 

wrath. 
So  all  the  gods  in  fair  Olympus'  round. 
Each  in  the  several  manners  of  their  powers, 
Divinely  angry  and  divinely  swift 
To  vengeance,  rapt  in  the  amazed  rage 
Of  sudden  harm  breaking  the  halcyon  joy 
Of  their  Oljnnpian  calm,  together  rise 
Threatening. 

24 


A    FABLE    for    LYDIA 

But  chief  the  Cytherean  goddess, 
The  roses  slain  in  either  cheek,  and  all 
Her  loosened  tresses  streaming  down 
Cascaded  gold  in  riotous  neglect. 
Lifts  up  her  voice  piercing  and  wailing  out 
Upon  the  shuddering  winds  that  bear  her  grief 
To  the  four  ends  of  earth  disconsolate; 
For  she  is  mother  of  young  Eros  dead. 

And  at  the  foot  of  Zeus^  throne  she  kneels 
With  outstretched  arms  and  slender  petaled  hands. 
And  prays  the  great  Ceraunian  Father  thus: 
"Not  vengeance  do  I  seek,  O  Thunderer, 
Not  thy  red  bolt  upon  the  guilty  head  — 
For  what  avail  that  now  to  Eros  slain?  — 
Though  just  thy  vengeance  for  the  sacrilege  — 
But  life  again  for  Eros,  life  renewed. 
Immortal  save  from  his  own  arrow  sent 
By  hand  of  mortal,  who  overcomes  the  god 
Himself  and  slays  him  with  the  fatal  shaft 
Aimed  at  his  conqueror:  For  so  the  Fates 
In  council  sacrosanct  decreed,  beyond 
Thy  might  to  break  or  bend  —  Frown  not,  0  Zeus, 
Father  of  gods  and  men  that  so  I  plead ! 
But  hold  thy  hand !  Release  the  eager  bolt. 
And  hear  me  more  before  it  be  too  late!  — 
For  in  that  far  inscrutable  abyss 
25 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Of  Fate,  that  underlies  Olympus'  heights 
And  all  the  vast  foundations  of  the  world, 
'Twas  willed  of  eld  that  only  by  the  hand 
That  breached  the  fatal  way  of  horrid  death 
To  Eros'  heart,  could  life  be  brought  again; 
If  that  same  hand  but  pluck  the  arrow  forth 
And  turn  it  on  the  heart  that  owns  the  hand, 
Eros  again  will  breathe  immortal  life 
And  gladden  our  high  court  with  ancient  joy. 
Stay  then  thy  hand,  hurl  not  the  dreadful  bolt! 
And  seal  not  on  the  brow  of  Eros  death 
Forever!  And  in  her  heart  that  slew,  the  barb 
Transfixed  shall  bring  not  death,  but  fairer  life, 
For  fatal  unto  him  alone  alas!  his  shaft. 
Straightway  to  earth  will  I  with  winged  speed 
And  seek  out  her,  who  slew  my  boy  and  made 
Olympus  dark  for  all  the  gods,  and  earth 
Disconsolate  —  a  goddess  at  her  feet. 
Praying  her  tender  pity  for  a  god. 
My  son!" 

So  saying  rises  the  mother  goddess. 
And  gathering,  as  she  rises,  her  unloosed  locks, 
With  delicate  and  deftest  fingers  winds 
The  glittering  strands  in  queenly  coils  about 
Her  head,  and  crowns  it  with  their  massy  gold. 
And  going  to  the  jacinth  parapet 
That  rings  Ol3niipus  height,  where  coo  her  doves 
26 


A    FABLE    for    LYDIA 

In  silvery  harness  to  her  ivory  car, 

Mounts,  and  speeding  downward  to  the  earth 

Wings  swiftly  through  the  flowing  air  that  sings 

In  amorous  cadence  through  the  slender  spokes 

Of  golden  wheels,  and  far  into  the  deep 

Of  blue  below  sinks  from  the  straining  sight 

Of  all  the  ranged  gods  upon  the  verge 

Of  high  Olympus,  silent  watching. 


27 


TREASURE-TROVE 

An  evening  palmer  onward  creeps  the  day 
To  seek  the  sanctuaried  Sun's  far  shrine  — 

0  Pilgrim,  thither  hear  some  gift  of  mine 
As  treasure-trove  when  I  shall  come  that  way. 


28 


LIFE 

What  bring  you  flaming  Sun  from  out  the  East, 
Birth,  death,  or  love  or  hate  to  me  this  day? 

What  take  you  crimson  Sun  within  the  West? 
What  yesterday  I  brought  and  took  away. 


29 


MARIA  IMMACULATA 
I 

How  may  I  sing,  unworthy  I, 

Our  Lady's  glorious  sanctity? 

She  whose  celestial  shoon 

Rest  on  the  horned  moon 

In  Heaven's  highest  galaxy; 

She  whom  the  poet  sang  of  old 

In  that  rare  vision  told 

In  soft  Tuscan  speech  of  gold, 

The  spotless  spouse  and  mother-maid, 

The  goodliest  sapphire  in  Heaven's  floor  inlaid. 

Around  whom  wheels  the  circling  flame 

Of  the  rapt  seraph  breathing  Mary's  name, 

While  choir  to  choir  replies 

In  growing  harmonies 

Through  all  the  glowing  spheres  of  Paradise, 

Till  universal  Heaven's  glad  estate 

Rings  jubilation  to  their  queen  immaculate. 

II 

Ah  me!  Unworthy  I  to  sing 
The  stainless  mother  of  my  King, 
My  King  and  Lord, 
The  Incarnate  Word, 

30 


MARIA    IMMACULATA 

Heaven  itself  comprest 

Within  her  virgin  breast! 

How  may  my  faltering  rhyme 

Sing  of  Eternity  in  time, 

Omnipotence  in  human  frailty  exprest, 

Our  earthly  garden  fragrant  with  celestial  thyme. 

What  Muse,  though  great  Urania  guide  her  flight, 

May  dare  the  sacrosanct  and  awful  height 

Of  that  mysterious  sublime 

Within  the  secret  counsels  of  the  Infinite! 

Omniscience  there  supreme  and  sole 

Clasps  the  beginning  and  the  whole 

Of  Love  beyond  created  sight, 

Uncreate  and  quintessential  light! 

Before  the  splendor  of  that  ray 

Cherub  and  seraph  fall  away 

Dazzled  and  broken  by  excess 

Of  overpowering  blessedness. 

Yet  panting  for  the  fulness  of  the  bliss 

That  breathes  consuming  fire  from  Love's   un- 

kenned  abyss. 
Not  through  that  fiery  sphere  my  way, 
But  here  where  shines  the  veiled  day. 
The  flames  of  mystery  insteeped 
In  this  our  mortal  clay; 
For  in  her  maiden  breast  asleep 
Lies  all  the  Love  of  Heaven's  deep, 
31 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

The  holy  circle  of  her  zone 
Incarnate  Love's  terrestial  throne. 


in 

The  great  archangel  veils  his  face 
Before  her:  ''Hail,  full  of  grace!" 
And  Heaven  is  clasped  of  earth; 
While  all  the  circling  spheres  with  all  their  choirs 
Around  her  wheel  seraphic  fires. 
Eden  rises  to  its  second  birth; 
Again  the  prime  estate 
Of  man  is  renovate, 

And  all  the  elder  worth  renewed  in  her  immacu- 
late; 
Virgui  and  spouse  of  Him 
Who  breathes  the  virtue  of  the  Seraphim, 
Virgin  and  mother  of  the  Eternal  Son, 
Daughter,  Virgin,  Spouse  in  one! 
The  spotless  mate  of  spotless  Dove, 
The  one  great  miracle  of  God's  love. 
From  all  eternity  the  chosen  bride, 
Where  Holiness  untainted  might  abide; 
Save  only  her  none,  none 
Exempt  from  sin's  dominion; 
Save  only  her  of  Adam's  race 
Or  heavenly  line,  none  full  of  grace; 
32 


MARIA    IMMACULATA 

On  her  alone,  on  her  alone 

The  torrent  of  His  love  poured  down 

The  deep  abundance  of  its  flood 

Into  the  pure  channels  of  her  maidenhood, 

The  fleckless  mirror  of  her  grace 

Reflecting  all  the  beauty  of  His  Face. 


IV 

She  looks  with  human  eyes 
Into  the  eyes  of  Paradise; 
Upon  her  virgin  breast  the  Babe  Divine 
Gazes  again  into  her  eyne; 
O  vanity  of  words  to  tell 
The  wonder  of  that  spell, 
The  ravishment  of  bliss 
Upwelling  from  the  deep  abyss 
Of  Love  incarnate  gazing  in  the  eyes 
Of  his  terrestrial  paradise ! 
See  Heaven  within  her  arms, 
Gathered  against  all  harms. 
Innocence  by  innocence  addrest, 
Virgin  love  by  virgin  love  carest. 
The  sinless  mother  and  the  sinless  Son 
For  Heaven  and  earth  to  gaze  upon! 
Her  living  image  on  her  knee, 
0  the  depths  of  her  maternity! 
33 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Her  God,  her  Infant  at  her  breast, 

O  Love  beyond  all  utterance  exprest, 

The  Eternal  Word  in  virgin  flesh  made  manifest! 


Ye  sons  of  Adam  rejoice 

With  exultant  voice! 

Shake  off  your  chains!    Arise! 

The  ancient  dragon  has  no  power 

O'er  Jesse's  virgin  flower, 

And  stricken  'neath  a  maiden's  sandal  lies. 

Nor  may  his  venomed  breath  so  much 

As  her  garment's  outer  margin  touch; 

And  sin's  torrential  flood. 

That  whelmed  all  Adam's  flesh  and  blood, 

Its  loathsome  stream  turns  back 

Before  her  footsteps'  radiant  track. 


VI 

Rejoice,  children  of  men! 
Behold  again 
Your  flesh  rejuvenate 
In  her  immaculate! 
Rejoice  with  exceeding  joy, 
For  in  her  free  from  sin's  alloy 
34 


MARIA    IMMACULATA 

Your  renovated  race 
In  plenitude  of  grace 
Dare   look   again  unshamed  upon  its   Maker's 

Face! 
Chosen  to  bear  the  Eternal  Word, 
In  her  your  more  than  dignity  restored; 
In  her  the  more  than  golden  worth 
Of  Eden's  prime  when  Heaven  was  linked  with 

earth; 
Unstained  by  Adam's  guilty  forfeiture, 
In  her  your  long  corrupted  flesh  made  pure; 
For  of  her,  flesh  of  flesh  and  bone  of  bone. 
Eternal  Love  builds  up  His  stainless  throne! 


VII 

Rejoice  and  be  glad  this  day! 
In  jubilation  lay 
Your  tribute  at  her  feet, 
Spotless  and  most  meet. 
The  mystic  rose  of  Jesse's  root. 
To  bear  the  heavenly  fruit; 
Wisdom's  seat  and  Heaven's  gate, 
Our  surest  advocate. 
Mother  of  God  immaculate! 
Be  glad,  O  Adam's  clay. 
Be  glad  this  happy  day. 
35 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

And  with  accordant  voice  acclaim 

Our  spotless  Lady's  stainless  fame; 

Be  ye  exceeding  glad  and  sing 

The  mother  of  our  King. 

And  though  unworthy  be  my  strain, 

She  is  too  tender  not  to  deign  ' 

To  lend  a  gracious  ear 

To  this  her  children's  humble  prayer: 

Mother  of  Mercy,  hear! 

Mother  whose  face  is  likest  HiSy 

Who  our  Redeemer  is, 

Grant  us  one  day  to  share 

Thy  happiness  in  gazing  on  His  Face, 

Who  found  thee  without  spot  and  full  of  grace! 


36 


LOVE  AND  DEATH 

Watcher,  whose  eyes  are  fever  bright 
With  peering  through  the  dragging  night, 
See  you  the  coming  of  the  light? 

Long  have  we  waited  for  your  word. 
The  revelation  you  have  heard 
From  Nature's  lips,  like  voices  stirred 

In  Memnon's  image,  when  the  ray 
Of  morning  smites  his  wakening  clay 
To  music  with  the  coming  day. 

The  message  that  we  hope  from  thee, 
A  new  evangel,  that  will  be 
The  death  of  foolish  mystery. 

Have  you  not  plumbed  the  central  deep 
Of  life,  and  sifted  all  the  heap 
In  jealous  Nature's  guarded  keep; 

And  all  her  labyrinth  of  dread 
Traversed  with  Ariadne's  thread. 
Unmindful  of  the  quick  or  dead? 
37 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

We  wait  to  hear  the  secret  thing 
You've  plucked  from  Saturn's  ruby  ring, 
The  stellar  message  that  you  bring 

From  other  worlds,  communicate 
With  freedom  from  this  lower  state 
Heavy  with  death  and  black  with  fate. 

Beneath  time's  leaden  mantle  bowed. 
With  slow  step  creeps  the  anguished  crowd 
Under  a  heaven  dark  with  cloud; 

A  way  of  toil,  a  path  of  fears 

Barren  with  thorns  and  salt  with  tears, 

How  filmy  our  short  span  of  years; 

A  gossamer  athwart  the  face 

Of  upper  and  of  nether  space. 

Like  smoke  to  vanish  from  its  place. 

Grief  in  life's  cup  distills  its  gall; 
The  very  sweets  begin  to  pall, 
And  Death  awaits  to  drain  it  all. 

What  joyous  message  yours  to  tell, 
Who  stand  upon  the  pinnacle 
Of  knowledge,  like  a  sentinel 
38 


LOVE    and    DEATH 


Upon  a  leaguered  city's  tower, 
Awaiting  rescue's  golden  hour 
Against  the  foe's  encircHng  power: 

See  you,  through  shadows  of  the  night, 
The  first  faint  flush  of  dawning  light 
Gleaming  on  armour  burnished  bright, 

The  van  of  armies  marching  down 
To  rescue  of  the  fainting  town 
And  victory's  long  awaited  crown? 

We  weep,  we  suffer  and  we  die; 
Dumb  is  the  earth  and  dumb  the  sky  — 
Feed  not  our  hopes  upon  a  lie! 

The  race  you  tell  us  is  the  flower 
Of  seons  building  with  blind  power 
Up  to  the  distant  crowning  hour: 

I  look  upon  the  face  of  Death; 

And  Sorrow  asks  with  sobbing  breath : 

What  is  the  foolish  thing  he  saith? 

And  stricken  Love  with  lowly  head 
Stands  dumb  beside  the  silent  dead;  — 
She  heedeth  not  what  he  hath  said. 
39 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

What  cares  my  Love  for  prophecy 
Of  unborn  races;  what  to  me 
The  ghostly  dream  of  time  to-be? 

My  Love  but  yesterday  was  born, 

Blossomed  a  rose  upon  life's  thorn, 

And  withered  now,  lies  plucked  and  torn. 

Why  prate  about  millennial  hours. 
The  far  result  of  unknown  powers. 
When  Death  is  scything  'mid  the  flowers? 

Can  you  restore  a  single  leaf 

Once  gathered  in  his  crowded  sheaf. 

Or  pluck  the  poisoned  thorn  of  grief? 

My  love  is  more  than  love  of  race, 

A  single  love  for  one  dear  face. 

Now  locked  in  Death's  unloved  embrace. 

Upon  the  bier  in  Love's  purview 
Lies  all  the  race  Love  ever  knew; 
There  all  the  sweet  in  all  the  rue. 

Love  ever  grows  from  one  sole  root, 
And  blossoms  on  a  single  shoot 
Upburgeoning  to  perfect  fruit. 
40 


LOVE    and    DEATH 


Within  the  heart's  red  garden  blows 
The  splendour  of  its  queenly  rose, 
The  single  blossom  that  it  knows. 

Now  lies  my  flower  in  Death's  cold  hand, 
Its  petals  scattered  on  the  strand. 
And  all  the  garden  choked  with  sand. 

I  stand  before  time's  ribbed  gate. 
And  wondering  ask:  Can  love  abate, 
Is  Death  the  final  seal  of  fate? 

Is  Love  but  one  sweet  moment's  bloom, 
An  instant's  flash  upon  the  gloom, 
Then  sudden  ashes  of  the  tomb? 

Can  you,  who  scan  the  secret  ways 
Of  hidden  systems  through  the  maze 
Of  heavenly  hieroglyphs  ablaze 

With  myriad  suns, —  can  you  not  read 
Some  answer  in  that  luminous  screed. 
How  Love  from  Death's  iron  bond  is  freed? 

Or  you,  who  search  the  rocky  girth, 
That  ribs  our  ancient  mother  earth, 
For  traces  of  the  primal  birth;  — 
41 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

What  answer  to  Love's  questioning 
From  her  dread  wisdom  can  you  wring, 
What  word  to  stir  Hope's  fluttering? 

What  gain  to  Love  the  garnered  store 
Of  all  your  microscopic  lore, 
The  little  less  or  little  more 

Of  knowledge,  if  it  hold  no  key 

To  that  abysmal  mystery. 

Which  parteth  now  my  love  from  me? 

Nature  you  say  is  wheeling  fast 
Downward  to  that  chaotic  last, 
When  all  the  hours  shall  be  but  past. 

And  all  time  bound  within  its  zone 
Upon  the  void  in  ashes  blown. 
With  Death  sole  victor  on  his  throne. 

Love  turns  with  blinded  eye  away, 
And  gazing  on  the  trestled  clay. 
Scarce  knoweth  now  what  she  may  say; 

Her  heart  benumbed  with  some  strange  fear, 
The  word's  hard  meaning,  dimly  clear, 
Soimds  strange  upon  her  anguished  ear. 
42 


LOVE    and    DEATH 


I  take  my  love's  cold  hand  and  feel 
Its  icy  numbness  upward  steal 
Around  my  heart,  and  there  congeal 

In  grief's  deep  frost,  like  winter's  breath 
On  some  lone  pool  upon  the  heath. 
When  all  the  ground  lies  white  in  death. 

The  lips  are  silent  whence  once  came 
The  softened  accents  of  my  name 
In  discreet  praise  or  loving  blame: 

There  where  I  plucked  the  flower  of  speech, 
The  crumpled  petals  ashening  bleach, 
Though  Love  in  anguish  now  beseech 

One  little  word,  one  faintest  stir, 
Like  breath  upon  a  gossamer, 
An  echo  whispered  to  aver 

That  out  beyond  this  darkened  year 
Love  lives  and  rules  a  nobler  sphere. 
Though  Death  stand  sceptered  tyrant  here. 

Alas!  no  hint,  no  murmured  sigh 
From  those  pale  lips  to  make  reply. 
That  Love  herself  is  not  to  die! 
43 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Death  only  knows  the  dead  are  dead, 
The  body  sinks,  the  Hfe  is  sped. 
And  all  we  knew  evanished. 

O  hollow  creed  and  empty  boast. 

That  failest  when  Love  needs  thee  most, 

A  shattered  wreck  on  Death's  iron  coast. 

Love  craves  and  seeks  a  fuller  life; 
Though  all  of  Nature  seems  at  strife 
With  her,  and  all  her  ways  are  rife 

With  signs  of  death,  as  broadcast  leaves 
On  barren  earth  when  autumn  grieves, 
Love  heedeth  not,  but  still  believes 

Beyond  the  grosser  evidence 

Of  the  time-stuffed  and  halting  sense, 

She  yet  shall  j&nd  full  recompense. 

And  from  the  ashes  of  her  grief 
A  hidden  hope  puts  forth  a  leaf. 
That  yet  may  burgeon  for  the  sheaf. 

Which  Faith  shall  gather  in  the  grain, 
Sown  in  the  furrows  of  her  pain 
To  ripen  for  the  harvest's  gain. 
44 


LOVE    and    DEATH 


And  in  that  hope  Death's  stony  face 
Takes  something  of  a  softening  grace, 
Like  Hght  upon  a  barren  place; 

For  stirring  in  her  frosted  heart, 
Love  feels  the  sudden  pulses  start. 
New  life  in  quickening  throbbings  dart 

Its  joyous  anguish  through  each  vein; 
And  all  the  winter  of  her  pain 
Weeps  from  her  eyes  like  April  rain. 

A  hope  in  death !  O  wondrous  thing! 
The  desert's  waste  agreen  with  spring. 
Death's  very  rood  enblossoming ! 

Look  up,  O  trembling  Love,  and  see 
The  outstretched  arms  of  that  great  tree, 
Which  crowns  the  brow  of  Calvary. 

Here  planted  in  Death's  bitter  root 
Upspringeth  the  immortal  shoot 
To  bear  the  glorious  after-fruit. 

Around  the  blood-stained  Brow  entwines 
Death's  barren  coronal  of  spines. 
Plucked  from  a  waste  of  withered  vines; 
45 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Lo,  bathed  within  that  quickening  flood 
Each  sterile  spike  bursts  into  bud 
And  reddens  into  lustihood! 

And  looking  now  upon  the  bier, 
My  love  no  longer  drops  a  tear, 
For  Death's  vast  mystery  grows  clear. 


46 


ODE 

[Read  at  the  Centenary  of   Georgetown  University, 
February  21,  1889.] 


When  youth,  0  Alma  Mater,  on  the  threshold 

stood. 
The  hot  thirst  of  fame  within  the  blood, 
And  turned  with  longing  eyes 
To  life's  giant  enterprise. 
Under  the  gilded  future's  spell 
Lightly  we  said  farewell 
To  these  dear  scenes,   and   down  yon    narrow 

street. 
With  throbbing  heart  and  hastening  feet, 
Sought  the  jostling  throng 
That  o'er  life's  highway  streams  along: 
Lightly  we  went,  Hope  in  the  van. 
While  life  like  music  ran 
Melodiously  through  heart  and  brain, 
Each  step  a  victory,  each  moment  gain. 
Lightly  we  went :  but  laden  now 
Return  with  deeper  love  blown  to  full  flower 
By  riper  knowledge  of  the  absent  hour: 
47 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

And  on  this  day  of  days, 

When  Uke  a  hundred  stars  upon  thy  brow 

Thy  hundred  years  in  splendour  blaze, 

Lay  at  thy  feet  the  tribute  of  our  praise. 

As  dew  wept  down  on  leaf  and  flower,  when  morn 

Grows  tremulous  within  the  east  scarce  born, 

Mirrors  in  every  crystal  drop  the  radiant  sun, 

A  thousand  lesser  lights  reflecting  one, 

Our  loves  receive  thy  love's  desire. 

And  myriad-fold  return  the  sacred  fire. 


II 

From   distant   lands,    where   in   soft   splendour 

beams 
The  Southern  Cross  through  silent  deeps  of  air. 
Making  a  solemn  glory  of  the  night  that  seems 
As  though  angelic  choirs  were  chanting  there; 
From  lands  where  winter's  icy  banners  flare 
Upon  rude  blasts  blown  down  in  roaring  war 
From  solitudes  beneath  the  polar  star; 
From  lands  where  morning's  earliest  rays  unbar 
The  gates  of  sleep  to  rouse  the  eager  throng 
With  the  keen  note  of  industry's  shrill  song. 
While  slumbering  cities  into  being  start 
And  barter  roars  within  the  busy  mart; 
From  lands  where  boundless  prairie  rolls  along 
48 


ODE /or  GEORGETOWN  UNIVERSITY 

In  endless  leagues,  and  towering  summits  leap 

To  cloudless  heights  above  Pacific's  deep, 

Thy  many  sons  assemble  here 

To  greet  thee  in  thy  hundredth  year 

Of  sweet  maternity,  and  lay  aside. 

For  this  brief  hour,  the  buckler  and  the  spear, 

As  armed  knights  were  wont  of  old  to  bide 

The  truce  of  God,  remembering  Christ  had  died :  — 

From  all  life's  walks  we  come  in  peace  arrayed; 

Where  feverish    Commerce  plies   the    looms  of 

trade 
With  ceaseless  hum,  and  from  the  myriad  ways 
Of  Law,  whose  justice-tempered  segis  stays 
And  turns  unbridled  evil's  reckless  blade; 
Where  armed  with  new-found  powers  sage  Galen's 

art 
Arrests  the  fatal  flight  of  Death's  dread  dart; 
Where  on  the  stormy  seas  of  high  debate 
The  Nation's  wisdom  guides  the  bark  of  state: 
Where  sweet  Religion  takes  sublimer  part 
And  drawing  with  her  threefold  cord  above 
Leads  fallen  nature  up  to  perfect  Love. 
Yet  not  alone  thy  sons  that  here  below 
Lift  the  glad  voice  in  jubilation's  song. 
Salute  thee,  but  where  Heaven's  starry  bow 
Rounds  the  vast  firmament  with  fire,  a  throng 
Invisible,  blest  spirits  once  among 
49 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Thine  earthly  sons  take  up  the  great  refrain, 
Till  all  the  blissful  heights  give  back  the  strain, 
That  falls  a  benediction  on  thy  head 
From  blessed  hands  of  thy  beloved  dead; 
And  thy  triumphant  sons  thence  looking  down 
Flash  on  thy  brow  a  spiritual  crown, 
A  diadem  of  light,  whose  splendour  rays 
Immortal  glory  through  eternal  days! 


Ill 

When  virgin  Liberty  yet  stood 
Within  the  dawn  of  maidenhood, 
Upon  these  hills  was  fixed  thy  seat. 
The  home  of  truth,  and  learning's  calm  retreat 
By  blue  Potomac's  peaceful  flood. 
Scarce  then  had  died  the  furious  beat 
Of  rolling  drum  in  loud  alarm 
Sounding  the  patriot's  call  to  arm 
Against  the  tyrant  foe; 
While  yet  the  reeking  sod  was  warm 
With  martyr  blood  spilt  in  the  fearful  throe 
Of  battle,  and  the  trembling  earth 
Groaned  in  travail  of  a  nation's  birth, 
Came  the  man  of  peace,  who  bore 
The  cross  and  laurel  to  the  shore. 
Where  sweet  Cohonguroton's  waters  pour, 
50 


ODE /or  GEORGETOWN  UNIVERSITY 

And  planted  here  the  sacred  tree. 
And  this  was  he 
Of  that  same  faith  and  race 
With  him  who,  taking  up  the  bloodless  steel 
To  make  the  Nation's  woe  or  weal, 
Alone  of  all  the  signers  dared  to  trace 
Not  only  his  heroic  name,  but  native  place, 
And  with  the  dauntless  front  of  Freedom's  son 
Wrote  ''Carroll  of  Carrollton ! " 
Rejoice  in  thy  noble  stem 
And  firm  foundations  wrought 
When  minion  foes  were  taught 
How  priceless  is  the  gem 
Of  Freedom  bought 
By  patriot  steel  in  patriot  hands 
Against  a  narrow  tyrant's  slavish  bands! 
Around  thy  cradle  blew  the  trumpet  blast 
Of  victory,  when  Liberty  at  last 
Burst  the  chains  that  held  her  bound. 
And  all  the  land  leaped  at  the  glorious  sound, 
And  from  the  dragon-jaws  of  Strife 
A  Nation  sprang  to  life, 
Strong-limbed  and  beautiful  in  power 
Through  mighty  wrestling  in  that  heavy  hour! 
Around  thy  cradle  redolent 
Breathed  the  fresh  fragrance  of  the  spring 
Of  Freedom,  and  its  vigour  blent 
51 


COLLECTED     POEMS 

With  thine  own  blood,  and  sent 
Thy  pulses  dancing  to  the  swing 
Of  music  born  in  prophecy 
Of  all  the  glory  yet  to  be! 


IV 

A  century  has  rolled  its  solemn  tide 
Along  the  Nation's  path,  and  by  thy  walls 
The  generations  ebbed  and  died. 
Fallen  in  the  waste  of  time,  as  falls 
Yon  river  to  the  distant  sea  — 
And  lo!  the  promise  of  thine  infancy! 
A  stately  palace  rears  its  tower-capped  height 
Upon  thy  hills,  truth's  templed  shrine. 
Shedding,  like  a  beacon  light. 
Its  welcome  rays  across  the  brine 
To  outward  speeding  ships  that  brave 
Midmost  ocean's  storm-beat  wave, 
Or  homeward  struggling  barks  that  creep 
To  haven  from  the  warring  deep. 
Beneath  thy  roof-tree's  sheltering  span, 
Science  deep  in  Nature's  various  plan 
From  lifeless  dust  to  living  man. 
Houses  all  her  lore;  and  Art  with  eyes. 
Within  whose  depths  all  beauty  mirrored  lies 
As  in  calm  waters  summer  skies, 
52 


ODE /or  GEORGETOWN  UNIVERSITY 

Kindles  at  thy  hearth  her  living  flame; 
And  with  thee  dwells  the  gentle  Dame, 
Whose  smile  upon  the  exile's  wandering  path 
Like  light  soothed  time-worn  Dante's  bitter  wrath, 
Divine  Philosophy,   that  strikes    the    trembling 

strings 
To  the  deep  note  that  vibrates  from  the  sum  of 

things! 


"Not  all  I  am  shall  die!" 
Was  the  Roman  poet's  cry. 
Though  now  no  conjuring  priest 
Leads  the  fattened  beast 
To  the  smoking  altar,  and  the  pride 
Of  Rome  lies  buried  in  her  dust. 
Not  all,  0  Bard,  has  died, 
And  thou  hast  conquered  in  the  larger  trust: 
Here  where  learning  holds  her  seat. 
New-born  generations  greet 
Thee,  crowning  with  fresh  bays 
The  triumphs  of  those  elder  days. 
Nor  thou  alone  of  Greek  or  Roman  line 
Find'st  here  a  temple  and  a  shrine; 
The  stately  Mantuan, 
Who  sang  the  Arms  and  Man, 
Ovid,  whose  melting  lines  in  amorous  flow 
53 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Like  torrid  rivers  ran, 

The  silver-worded  Cicero, 

The  buskined  muse  of  Sophocles 

And  trumpet-tongued  Demosthenes, 

Old  Homer,  whose  heroic  strain 

Bade  gods  and  men  contend  on  Troia's  fatal 

plain,  — 
All,  all  the  mighty  train. 
Who  made  the  heart  and  brain 
Of  ancient  letters,  and  who  sent, 
As  fomitains  of  the  firmament, 
The  impetuous  crystal  flood 
Of  their  rich  speech  into  the  blood 
Of  nations  yet  within  the  womb, 
Find  here  a  wider  reign 
Than  universal  Rome  could  claim! 
Ye  quickening  powers!  no  Stygian  gloom 
Can  quench  the  vital  flame 
That  breathes  its  glory  round  the  classic  name! 
Not  dead,  but  living  voices  of  the  past. 
Not  dead  and  to  be  cast 
Like  blank  annals  of  barbarian  kings 
Into  the  void  of  forgotten  things, 
But  living  souls  with  power  to  reach 
The  human  heart  in  human  speech 
And  bind  the  generations  each  to  each. 
Leaping  the  centuries  and  giving  breath 
54 


ODE /or  GEORGETOWN  UNIVERSITY 

To  ancient  forms  snatched  back  from  empty 

death, 
Till  man  in  that  large  sympathy  of  mind 
Begot  by  wide  communion  with  his  kind, 
Across  the  age's  broadening  span 
Responsive  greets  his  fellow-man! 
Not  death,  but  life  prevails,  and  though  men's 

lives 
Drop  off  the  stem  like  ripened  fruit. 
Death  reaps  not  all,  the  seed  survives 
To  strike  in  other  soil  the  living  root; 
So  generations  gathering  up  the  past. 
Each  reaps  a  widening  profit  from  the  last, 
And  from  the  seed  by  others  sown 
Wears  the  flower  of  wisdom  as  its  own. 


VI 

Splendour  of  poet's  song,  the  living  light 
Of  letters  across  the  night 
Of  ages  fled.  Science  begirt  with  power 
To  build  a  universe  from  every  flower 
That  blows,  and  Wisdom's  glowing  height. 
Whence  the  eagle  mind  may  gaze 
Into  the  sun  of  truth's  full  blaze. 
Are  not  all  the  glories  of  thy  house; 
These  are  thine  by  that  high  right 
55 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Which  Nature's  self  allows 
To  those  who  consecrate  their  days 
To  Learning's  thorn-strewn  ways: 
A  light  of  still  more  constant  glow, 
A  flame  sprung  from  a  purer  fire 
Than  aught  of  human  can  inspire, 
Sheds  its  clear  radiance  on  thy  brow; 
A  glory  and  a  light  that  first 
Rose  from  Manresa's  cave,  and  burst 
In  fiery  splendour  on  a  wondering  world, 
When  meek  Loyola's  hand  unfurled 
His  holy  standard  blazoned  with  the  line, 
"The  glory  be  not  ours,  0  Lord,  but  thine!" 
O  happy  issue  of  Pamplona's  war, 
When  sank  a  warrior's  earthly  star. 
Not  quenched,  but  with  rekindled  beam  to  rise 
And  shed  celestial  fires  from  other  skies! 
Where  Error  rears  its  crested  pride 
Against  the  spotless  bride 
Of  Truth,  Loyola's  flashing  blade  descends 
Upon  the  mailed  casque,  and  rends 
The  stubborn  visor,  laying  bare 
The  serpent  face  that  lurked  in  hiding  there; 
With  steady  front  against  the  swarming  foe 
Manresa's  knight  rains  down  the  deadly  blow, 
As  on  the  bloody  field  of  Tours,  Martel 
With  thundering  mace  smote  down  the  infidel! 
56 


ODE /or  GEORGETOWN  UNIVERISTY 

No  carnal  weapons  wields  he  in  his  fight, 

For  his  a  spiritual  sword  of  light, 

Forged  in  the  glowing  smithies  of  the  soul. 

By  Love  attempered  and  by  Truth  made  whole; 

No  carnage  reddens  his  victorious  way. 

He  combats  to  give  life  and  not  to  slay. 

And  like  the  hero  fabled  to  our  youth. 

He  smites  giant  Error  to  free  the  princess  Truth. 

Still  other  conquests  wait  the  black-robed  knight, 

In  other  fields  to  wage  the  sacred  fight : 

See  Xavier  come,  a  burning  brand 

Of  love  to  distant  India's  sun-scorched  strand, 

And  as  a  flame  consumed  by  its  own  fire 

His  wasted  frame  in  ardent  love  expire : 

Beneath  our  skies  behold  Loyola's  band. 

When  pagan  night  yet  palled  the  distant  land, 

With  martyr  toil  the  savage  waste  explore 

From  distant  Maine  to  far  Pacific's  shore, 

Christ  in  the  heart  and  crucifix  in  hand : 

No  terrors  daunt,  no  lawless  wild  appals 

Where  love  of  souls  the  saintly  hero  calls. 

But  onward  through  the  trackless  waste  before, 

His  fearless  steps  first  tread  the  virgin  sod. 

And  consecrate  a  new-found  world  to  God! 


57 


COLLECTED    POEMS 


VII 

These,  0  Alma  Mater,  are  thy  bays, 
Thy  coronal  of  praise, 
Wherewith  thy  hundred  years  are  crowned; 
These  the  morning  stars  that  rise 
To  fill  with  golden  light  the  skies 
That  circle  thy  first  cycle  round; 
These  the  immortal  fires  that  know 
No  setting  in  heaven's  wide  expanse, 
But  kindle  with  an  ever  brighter  glow 
As  years  in  crystal  floods  advance: 
We  who  stand  upon  the  shore. 
And  watch  the  impetuous  flow 
Of  time's  river  onward  pour 
Into  the  future's  formless  sea, 
Dimly  dream  the  glory  yet  to  be; 
As  in  the  gateways  of  the  morn. 
When  the  waning  stars  are  shorn 
Of  their  soft  splendours,  day  is  born. 
And  the  shimmering  east  grows  white 
With  the  upward  creeping  fight 
Against  the  westward  fljdng  night, 
We  divine  the  glory  still  concealed 
By  the  beauty  half  revealed. 
Thy  hundred  years  upon  thy  cheek 
58 


ODE/orGEORGETOWN  UNIVERSITY 

Glowing  with  perennial  truth, 
Sit  like  the  first  flush  of  youth; 
Nor  envious  Time  may  wreak 
His  wrinkled  vengeance  on  thy  brow, 
And  his  harsh  furrows  plough 
To  mark  the  rugged  path 
Of  his  relentless  wrath. 

And  when  our  days  have  measured  out  their  span 
To  the  last  hmit  of  the  thread, 
And  we  join  Death's  wan  caravan 
To  the  shoreless  regions  of  the  dead, 
His  dread  shade  shall  have  no  power 
To  blight  the  blossom  of  the  flower 
That  wreathes  thy  head; 
But  as  the  generations  pass 
Like  phantoms  in  Time's  darkened  glass. 
And  ages  in  the  ever-widening  void  go  down, 
From  their  dust  shall  spring  fresh  bays  to  weave 
thy  crown! 


59 


AMARANTHUS 


Sweet  quiet  of  death,  made  quieter  by  the  sound 

Of  murmurous  leaves  above  these  quiet  graves 

Far  from  the  angry  city's  fretful  noise 

Of  loud  mortality  forgetting  death. 

Here  let  me  rest  and  soothe  the  unquiet  heart 

With  myrrh  of  meditation,  where  they  sleep. 

Who  sleep  in  patient  death.    How  still  they  sleep, 

Arched  with  the  giant  hmbs  of  sober  oaks 

Fretting  the  liquid  roof  of  heaven's  round 

With  tremulous  tracery  of  trembling  leaves  just 

stirred 
By  reverent  winds!    Smooth  slopes  the  silken 

sward 
Soft  o'er  the  silent  host,  like  hope's  green  mantle 
In  promise  of  the  miracle  to  come. 
When  at  the  great  archangel's  jubilant  note 
The  battlements  of  death  shall  crumble  shaken 

down. 
As  those  proud  turrets  tottering  tumbled  flat 
Before  the  blasts  of  marching  Israel. 
Sweet  comfort  of  the  mourning  soul,  that  death 
Holds  not  all  life  within  its  hoary  palm, 
60 


AMARANTHUS 


Nor  hollow  eyes  of  sightless  mockery 
The  final  image  of  the  days  that  looked 
Upon  a  living  world  through  lucent  windows, 
And  saw  life  smile  again  through  other  eyes 
That  love  enkindled  into  purer  light, 
The  dawning  promise  of  a  deathless  day. 


II 

Here  greatness  finds  its  kindred  clod,  and  fame 
A  common  clay  mingling  with  lowher  names 
Levelled  by  blasts  of  death  to  nothingness; 
Here  the  vain  hps  of  praise  find  voiceless  echoes 
In  hollow  chambers  sounding  silence  back, 
The  phantom  cries  of  images  of  dust; 
And  though  the  shouting  universe  should  roll 
The  long  reverberations  of  its  voice 
Through  all  the  shaking  avenues  of  time, 
And  the  wide  spaces  of  the  firmament 
Tremble  with  all  their  stars  to  that  loud  cry, 
Death  makes  no  answer  from  his  dusty  sleep. 

How  quiet  thy  rest,  unheedful  of  the  fret 
Of  time,  the  fiery  fuming  of  the  day, 
The  feverish  fancy  of  the  restless  night 
Eager  for  mom,  and  mom  pursuing  eve 
In  hope  expectant  of  the  happier  hour 
61 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

That  never  lights  except  to  wing  away 

Again;  —  how  quiet  their  changeless  sleep,  and 

free 
From  time's  illusive  speed  outstripping  time 
As  one  that  runs  to  overtake  his  shadow. 

Here  life  lays  down  its  fardel  with  a  smile, 
Disrobes  the  chafing  garments  that  it  wore 
Through  all  the  noisy  masquerade,  and  sleeps 
Dreamless  that  sleep  as  deep  as  silence  is, 
And  everlasting  as  the  voiceless  hills 
That  time  has  builded  to  the  end  of  time. 
Sweet  music  to  the  ear  of  meditation. 
The  mute  melodious  voice  of  sleep  murmuring 
Lethean  solace  to  the  harried  soul, 
As  plash  of  waters  to  the  famished  ear 
Of  one  athirst  midst  white  Sahara's  sands : 
Sweet  sleep  that  kisses  out  the  wrinkled  cares. 
And  breathes  the  roses'  crumpled  petals  smooth, 
Thy  cool  white  hand  upon  my  forehead  lay. 
As  does  a  mother  on  her  child's  flushed  brow, 
Till  I,  too,  rest  in  dreamless  vacancy. 


Ill 

And  wouldst  thou  be  content,  0  soul,  to  lie 
In  that  deep  emptiness,  the  wide  abyss 
62 


AMARANTHUS 


Of  death,  grim  depth  unsoundable  and  void, 
Where  time  embouches,  and  mortality. 
Like  some  swift  river  in  the  salt  sea's  waste, 
Pours  all  the  gathered  fulness  of  its  course  — 
Content  to  lie  and  know  not,  lost  to  use 
Of  all  the  spirit's  powers,  and  swayed 
A  weed  along  the  slowly  creeping  wave 
Of  Lethe  undulating  heavily? 

To  rest  were  blesses,  but  to  stagnate,  woe: 
The  wearied  soul  craves  life  not  death,  new  life, 
The  glad  refreshment  of  the  wasted  powers 
To  rise  again  in  recreated  bloom, 
As  lift  the  shrivelled  stalks  in  long  parched  fields 
Under  the  moistening  kisses  of  the  rain. 
Abundant  gladness  from  benignant  clouds. 

But  when  I  speak  to  Nature  of  this  hope, 
Heedless  her  ear  and  dumb  her  stony  lips. 
Like  that  huge  image  in  Egyptian  sands 
With  Udless  eye  in  leaden  speechlessness 
Staring  the  crowding  centuries  hastening  by. 
As  time  were  nothing  and  death  the  all  of  hfe: 
Nor  all  the  framework  of  this  universal  dust 
Puts  forth  one  little  blossom  of  the  hope 
Of  that  large  other  life  beyond  death's  touch; 
From  dust  to  dust  again  the  barren  cry 
63 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Sobbing  through  all  the  empty  wastes  of  time, 
While  saddened  Nature  moans  through  all  her 

days 
As  life  pours  back  its  bloom  to  nothingness. 

Not  there  the  answer,  not  there  the  golden  gleam 
Of  promise  kindhng  to  the  dawn  of  hope 
Ushering  the  fulness  of  the  day  the  soul 
Awaits;  but  turning  to  the  east  I  watch 
With  Pilate's  soldiers  for  the  coming  Hght. 


IV 

About  steep  Sion's  walls  silence  and  sleep, 
Twin  sentinels,  keep  ghostly  watch  and  tell 
The  shding  hours  through  all  the  heavy  night, 
While  Death  makes  lament  on  the  icy  hills. 
And  mourning  bends  his  hooded  head  and  moans 
Presaging  vanquishment,  the  mighty  lord 
Of  earth  and  man,  since  closed  the  clanging  gates 
On  guilty  Adam  and  his  weeping  spouse. 

Now  all  the  heavens  stoop  unto  the  west. 
Tremble  the  expectant  stars  with  paling  fires. 
And  from  the  awakening  east  the  soughing  winds 
Like  distant  melodies  come  faintly  up 
The  vaulted  darkness  of  the  wasting  night, 
64 


AMARANTHUS 


And  through  the  half-drawn  portals  of  the  dawn 
Voices  of  jubilation  seem  to  sound 
As  from  a  shouting  multitude  far  off. 


Lo!  Death  lies  prostrate  in  his  kindred  dust, 
And  Pilate's  soldiers  by  a  vacant  tomb ! 
And  Nature  sings,  for  day  is  here,  and  bursts 
Her  melody  from  blossomed  branch  and  floods 
The  enamelled  verdure  of  the  radiant  field, 
Pouring  its  amorous  gladness  on  the  air 
In  all  the  thousand  glories  of  its  flowers! 
And  shines  the  city  in  the  golden  flood 
Of  morning,  and  golden  all  the  encircUng  hills; 
And  on  Golgotha's  brow  the  naked  Cross 
Glows  golden  with  the  hght  of  new-born  day. 

For  he  hath  risen,  Lord  and  King  of  Death ! 
For  he  hath  risen,  Lord  and  King  of  Life! 
Rejoice,  my  soul,  and  fear  not  Death,  who  died 
That  day  and  fell  before  my  Lord  and  King 
Forever;  rejoice,  and  fear  not;  Death  is  dead, 
And  everlasting  Life,  eternal  rose. 
Unfolds  immortal  petals  blown  by  Love 
To  perfect  fulness  in  perpetual  light! 


65 


COLLECTED    POEMS 


VI 

In  him  they  sleep,  who  rest  so  quietly  here, 

In  him  to  rise  who  sleep  in  patience  here, 

Far  from  the  angry  city's  fretful  noise 

Of  loud  mortality  forgetting  death : 

They  sleep  in  his  great  peace,  the  halcyon  calm 

Of  that  deep  peace  the  world  can  never  give. 

Blessed  their  sleep  in  Him,  who  slept  as  they 

To  rise  again,  as  they  in  Him  shall  rise 

To  sleep  no  more:  here  let  me  sleep  in  Him, 

And  slipping  off  the  weeds  of  time  rise  up 

Robed  by  His  hand  in  immortality. 


66 


YOUTH 

Out  of  the  spacious  east  of  life 
Streams  the  clear  dawn  of  youth^s  fair  days, 
The  matin  song  and  gracious  ways 
Of  the  sweet  prime  whose  memory  plays 
Across  the  soul's  long  gaze 
Like  far  off  boreal  splendours  rife 
With  aureoles  in  northern  skies, 
Where  the  white  wold  lies 
Illimitable  to  heaven's  myriad  eyes 
In  the  waste  night's  immensities. 
Out  of  those  auroral  hours. 
Like  perfume  of  far  flowers 
Borne  by  the  flagging  breeze 
O'er  intervening  leas 
Of  barrenness,  that  fragrant  prime 
Comes  borne  sweet  through  wastes  of  time 
Across  wide  plunging  seas 
From  morn's  Hesperides; 
Ere  youth  with  innocence  sublime 
Had  left  the  golden  clime 
Of  his  fair  matin,  keen  to  sail 
His  slender  shallop  to  the  leaping  gale. 
67 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Fair  through  the  after  years, 

Across  wide  chasms  swollen  with  storm 

And  dimmed  with  mists  of  tears, 

Gleams  the  soft  radiance  of  the  form 

That  youth  had  builded  fair 

Out  of  the  impalpable  air 

Of  serenest  hope. 

Before  life  learned  to  grope 

Amid  the  sombre  bosks  of  melancholic  care. 

Whiter  than  the  mountained  snow, 

Brighter  than  the  crystal  glow 

Of  virgin  sunlight  yet  unkist 

By  grosser  air  to  amethyst, 

That  lambent  radiance  sent 

Its  paradisial  rays  through  all  life's  firmament: 

Earth  felt  its  lucent  heat 

Flood  her  central  seat, 

And  her  breast  replete 

With  its  soft  warmth  grew  sweet 

With  fragrance  of  the  bud 

Reddening  to  flower  upon  her  blood; 

While  from  the  glowing  sphere 

Of  the  overhanging  year 

Meting  with  variant  sisterhood 

Of    changeful    moons    the    moving    season's 

mood. 
Rolled  virgin  hymnals  all  unheard, 
68 


YOUTH 


Save  by  youth's  spirit  stirred 

To  catch  the  diviner  word 

Angelically  murmured; 

For  the  heart  of  youth  alone 

May  catch  the  ethereal  tone 

Of  heaven's  unseen  zone, 

Youth  that  looks  with  eyes 

Seeing  only  paradise 

In  earth's  wide  visibilities, 

Nor  yet  has  learned  the  curse 

That  locks  in  death  the  glittering  universe. 

Then  were  all  things  true, 
Time  all  sweets,  nor  any  rue 
Within  Life's  spacious  garden  grew; 
There  youth  elate 
Held  royal  state. 

The  smiling  monarch  of  obedient  fate; 
While  throned  in  every  eye 
Honour  beamed  resplendent  sanctity; 
And  there  Eve's  gracious  power, 
The  garden's  golden  dower, 
As  the  virgin  moon, 
Night's  chaste  plenilune, 
Lifts  the  vast  sea's  heaving  flood, 
Drew  all  life's  tides  to  noble  womanhood, 
For  all  was  fair  and  all  was  good. 
69 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Reign,  then,  Youth's  Memory; 

Let  me  your  captive  be, 

And  reap  felicity 

In  the  far  distant  gleam 

Of  that  pure  matin  dream 

Before  the  hour  of  ruth, 

When  all  was  sooth 

In  one  harmonious  round 

Of  diapasoned  sound 

In  the  full  orbit  of  unsullied  youth. 

For  now,  alas !  is  lost  the  gift 

Of  paradise,  and  leap  the  swift 

Raucous  years  headlong 

Tumbled  and  broke  among 

The  splintering  rocks, 

Where  time's  river  shocks 

Against  the  bitter  sea 

Of  eternity. 

I  would  return  to  thee, 
Season  of  innocence 
And  that  fresh  joy,  whence 
Sounded  clear  the  sweet  accord 
Of  Ufe's  primeval  word. 
Deep  music  in  far  places  stirred. 
When    heavenly   fingers    swept    the    trembling 
chord 

70 


YOUTH 


For  it  is  this 
That  makes  the  bhss 
Of  youth,  and  renders  fair, 
To  the  wide  eyes  of  innocence, 
All  the  ambient  air 
Of  dawn  in  that  intense 
Clear  light, 
Burning  a  rose  white 

In  the  eternal  morn  beyond  eclipse  of  night, 
And,  breaking  through 
The  darkened  circle  of  our  blue, 
Flashes  in  the  eyes 
Of  youth  with  fires  of  paradise; 
This  the  secret  power 
That  clothes  all  earth  with  flower 
Of  beauty  seen 
Only  in  the  sheen 
Of  that  deep  vision 
Of  the  pure  elysian, 
Caught  by  the  white  soul  of  youth, 
The  unflecked  mirror  of  the  sun  of  truth, 
Caught  and  given  forth  again 
Into  the  blinded  eyes  of  men, 
Beauty^s  own  celestial  ray 
Blotting  out  the  light  of  common  day. 
And  showering  storms  of  glory  o'er  the  beaten 
way. 

71 


ASPIRATION 

I  can  strike  the  minor  chord  and  sing;  — 

Is  the  major  chord  denied? 
I  would  sing  with  the  sun,  and  chime  with  the 
moon 

As  it  sways  the  heaving  tide. 

I  would  ride  upon  the  neck  of  the  blast 

Grasping  the  mane  of  the  rack, 
When  the  snorting  thunder  plashes  his  hoof 

In  the  lightning's  ragged  track. 

Or  where  the  battle  thunders  its  bruit, 

There  let  the  spirit  pant. 
When  death  and  victory  mingle  their  note 

In  one  triumphal  chant. 

I  would  mount  to  the  topmost  peak  and  ken 

With  an  eagle's  sight  afar. 
Swoop  to  the  depths  and  up  again 

Across  the  path  of  a  star. 

Where  myriad  suns  commingling  blaze 
In  the  marge  of  farthermost  space, 
72 


ASPIRATION 


And  system  in  system  clangorous  rolls 
Athwart  the  abyss's  face, 

Let  my  soul  drink  in  the  rushing  song 

Of  a  thousand  worlds  in  one, 
The  music  of  time  forever  dying 

And  time  forever  begun. 

On  the  wings  of  morning  let  me  rise, 

On  the  plumes  of  evening  fall, 
With  the  orient  clang  at  the  gates  of  sleep. 

With  evening  unfold  her  pall; 

And  with  the  course  of  the  chariot  sun, 

Let  me  follow  the  life  of  man. 
With  the  eye  of  heaven  looking  upon 

The  great  and  the  little  plan. 

For  I  would  sing  as  an  Angel  might  chant 

Of  all  that  he  sees  below, 
When  he  gazes  down  on  the  whirling  globe 

With  its  human  ebb  and  flow; 

And,  summing  up  in  one  great  chord, 
Bring  the  song  to  a  perfect  close. 

As  Dante's  diapason  blooms 
In  heaven's  eternal  rose. 
73 


POET  AND  BIRD 

To  sing  a  fleeting  song  and  die! 
What  merit  in  a  vagrant  note 

That  flutters  through  an  empty  sky- 
On  idly  pulsing  wings  afloat! 

Within  the  ocean  wastes  of  air 
No  ear  to  catch  its  slender  tone, 

Along  the  wide  savannah's  glare 
Into  the  seas  of  silence  blown. 

Or  if  some  silvern  drops  of  sound 

From  its  slight  stream  should  patter  down 
Upon  the  vast  earth's  glittering  round, 

In  greening  field  or  dusty  town, 

Who  there  would  heed  its  fleeting  dew 
Drunk  by  the  thirsty  soil  before 

The  sun  has  climbed  the  morning  blue. 
And  Hfe  crept  out  from  sleep's  dim  door? 

Yet  song  is  native  to  the  bird. 
That  trills  in  heaven  a  buoyant  stave, 

Pouring  his  melody  unheard 
Upon  the  trembling  ether's  wave. 
74 


POET    and    BIRD 


And  native,  too,  the  poet^s  note, 

Though  none  to  hear  the  distant  song 

Throbbing  in  regions  far  remote 

From  earth  and  its  imheedful  throng. 

For  Beauty  has  a  secret  grace 

Bestowed  in  solitude  alone; 
Both  bird  and  poet  haunt  the  place 

About  the  purUeus  of  her  zone; 

And,  winging  through  the  higher  ways 
Close  to  the  levels  of  her  throne. 

There  catch  some  fragments  of  her  lays, 
And  sing  the  music  as  their  own. 


75 


IN  CIRCE'S  DEN 

Dullard  and  sot  crammed  full 
Of  the  meat  of  the  flesh, 

Gross  bulk  ensnared  and  held 
In  the  sense's  mesh; 

Fat  chops  repletely  fed 

On  the  offal  heap. 
Munching  a-hungered  again 

In  the  garbage  sweep; 

Epicure,  bellied  big, 

Homed  in  the  sty; 
Snout  stale  with  its  ancient  swill, 

Bleared,  piggish  eye;  — 

Push  and  grunt  at  the  trough 

In  Circe's  pen, 
Glut  and  roll  and  wallow 

And  glut  again! 

The  poet's  scorn  upon  you 

Brutes  of  the  sty; 
Slaves  of  the  trough  and  the  swill, 

Wallow  and  die! 
76 


In    CIRCE'S    DEN 


Away!  where  nature  is  clean, 
And  breath  of  the  breeze 

Draws  deep  with  light  in  the  east 
And  mom  in  the  trees ! 

Flashes  the  gossamer  thread 
Pearled  with  the  dawn; 

Silver  soft  shafts  of  Apollo 
Gleam  on  the  lawn. 

Close  night's  golden  eyes, 

Pale  wanes  the  moon; 
Twinkle  the  feet  of  the  day 

In  her  white  shoon. 

Wakens  a  tumult  of  song 

In  forest  green  glades; 
Silent  off  steals  the  dark 

Through  soft  melting  shades. 

Faint  comes  a  wind  soughing 

Stirring  the  leaves; 
Chequered  shadow  and  sunshine 

On  the  sward  weaves. 

Soul-stirring  breath  of  the  heaven, 
Rich  wind  of  the  earth, 

77 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Waking  the  heart  to  thy  gladness 
And  nature  to  mirth; 

These  be  the  poet's  dear  portion 

Afar  from  the  den, 
Where  Circe  sits  watching  her  sty 

And  its  swine,  that  are  men. 


78 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ALFRED  TENNYSON 

Who  took  the  laurel  from  the  brow 
Of  him,  who  uttered  nothing  base, 
And  ever  bore  it  in  the  vase 

Of  purity,  0  Master,  thou, 

Of  virgin  song,  when  round  thee  beat 
The  lustful  rhythm  of  a  time, 
That  welds  false  passion  with  false  rhyme 

Like  some  fierce  Titan  in  the  heat 

Of  unregenerate  desire; 

Thou,  turning  to  sublimer  spheres, 
Made  measure  of  the  changing  years 

With  chastest  song,  and,  all  afire 

With  vestal  passion  fed  the  flame 

Of  poesy  with  holy  oils; 

And  kept  unsullied  from  the  toils 
Of  grosser  things  the  hallowed  name 

Of  poet.    We  who  love  thy  fame 
And  follow  still  thy  luminous  star, 
A  beacon  light  beyond  the  bar. 

Pray  now  for  thee  the  sweet  acclaim 
79 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Of  Avalon  saluting  there 
Tumultuously  the  pure  of  heart, 
Whose  song  e'er  scorned  the  baser  part, 

And  kept  the  lily's  whiteness  fair. 


80 


ARISE,  AMERICA! 
[^On  the  occasion  of  President    Cleveland's  Venezuelan 


Arise,  America! 
Justice  to  freedom  calls, 
And  freedom's  mighty  shout 
Thunders  answering  out, 
Shaking  the  brazen  walls 
Of  a  despot's  quaking  halls. 

Arise,  America! 
Hark!    Valour's  quickening  tread, 
Through  all  your  golden  plain 
Sounding  from  main  to  main, 
Stirs  e'en  the  glorious  dead. 
Who  once  for  country  bled. 

Arise,  America! 
Rolls  back  time's  misty  night, 
And  lo!  the  heroic  band 
Wrests  from  fell  England's  hand 
Freedom's  sacred  right, 
Crowned  on  glory's  height! 
81 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Arise,  America! 
Ours  the  glorious  meed 
Of  freedom,  heaven-sprung, 
God's  youngest  gifts  among, 
Won  only  by  the  deed 
Of  heroes  when  they  bleed. 

Arise,  America! 
Ours  this  sacred  weal 
To  guard  and  ever  hold 
Against  or  arms  or  gold; 
Swear  it,  as  we  kneel. 
By  the  patriot's  virgin  steel! 

Arise,  America! 
Better  the  desperate  clash 
Of  war  and  goriest  fight 
Than  justice  cowered  by  might; 
Better  than  despot's  lash 
Death  by  the  foeman's  gash! 

Arise,  America! 
Twice  England  felt  our  worth, 
Twice  we  smote  her  sore 
And  hurled  her  from  our  shore; 
Twice  shrunk  her  pride's  vast  girth, 
Till  freedom  strode  the  earth! 
82 


ARISE,    AMERICA! 


Arise,  America! 
Our  valour  still  is  true, 
Our  patriot  blood  still  flows 
Where  freedom's  bamier  blows; 
Nor  vain  shall  justice  sue 
Our  arms  to  justice  due. 

Arise,  arise! 
Ye  sons  of  freedom  shout 
Till  the  shaking  heavens  reply! 
Flash  the  keen  steel  on  high, 
Swift  gleaming  roundabout 
The  foeman's  panic  rout! 

Arise!    Arise! 
Sacred  the  cause,  and  just, 
God  our  mightiest  might, 
Battling  for  the  right. 
Holding  Freedom's  sacred  trust 
Against  a  world's  mad  lust! 


83 


THE  RAISING  OF  THE  FLAG 

lift  up  the  banner  of  our  love 

To  the  kiss  of  the  winds  above, 

The  banner  of  the  world's  fair  hope, 

Set  with  stars  from  the  azure  cope, 

When  liberty  was  young, 

And  yet  unsung 

Clarioned  her  voice  among 

The  trodden  peoples,  and  stirred 

The  pulses  with  her  word. 

Till  the  swift  flood  red 

From  the  quick  heart  sped. 

Flushing  valour's  cheek  with  flame 

At  sounding  of  her  august  sacred  name! 

Lift  up  the  banner  of  the  stars, 
The  standard  of  the  double  bars, 
Red  with  the  holy  tide 
Of  heroes'  blood,  who  died 
At  the  feet  of  liberty. 
Shouting  her  battle-cry 
Triumphantly, 
As  they  fell  like  sickled  corn 
In  that  first  resplendent  mom 
Of  freedom,  glad  to  die 
In  the  dawn  of  her  clear  eye! 
84 


The    RAISING    of    the    FLAG 

Lift  up  the  flag  of  starry  blue 
Caught  from  the  crystal  hue 
Of  central  heaven's  glowing  dome, 
Where  the  great  winds  largely  roam 
In  unrestrained  hberty; 
Caught  from  the  cerulean  sea 
Of  midmost  ocean  tossing  free, 
Flecked  with  the  racing  foam 
Of  rushing  waters,  as  they  leap 
Unbridled  from  the  laughing  deep 
In  the  gulfs  of  liberty! 

Lift  up  the  banner  red 

With  the  blood  of  heroes  shed 

In  victory! 

Lift  up  the  banner  blue 

As  heaven,  and  as  true 

In  constancy! 

Lift  up  the  banner  white 

As  sea  foam  in  the  light 

Of  liberty; 

The  banner  of  the  triple  hue. 

The  banner  of  the  red  and  white  and  blue, 

Bright  ensign  of  the  free! 

Lift  up  the  banner  of  the  days  to  come. 
When  cease  the  trumpet  and  the  rolling  drum; 
85 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

When  peace  in  the  nest  of  love 
Unfolds  the  wings  of  the  dove, 
Brooding  o'er  the  days  to-be, 
Peace  born  of  freedom's  might, 
Peace  sprung  from  the  power  of  right, 
The  peace  of  liberty! 

Lift  up  the  flag  of  high  emprise 
To  greet  the  gladdened  eyes 
Of  peoples  far  and  near, 
The  glorious  harbinger 
Of  earth's  wide  liberties, 
Streaming  pure  and  clear 
In  freedom's  lofty  atmosphere! 

Lift  up  our  hearts  to  Him  who  made  to  shine 
In  heaven's  arch  the  glorious  sign 
Of  mercy's  heavenly  birth 
To  all  the  peoples  of  the  earth, 
The  pledge  of  peace  divine! 
And  let  our  glorious  banner,  too. 
The  banner  of  the  rainbow's  hue. 
In  heaven's  wide  expanse  unfurled, 
Be  for  a  promise  to  the  world 
Of  peace  to  all  mankind; 
Banner  of  peace  and  light. 
Banner  of  red  and  blue  and  white, 
86 


The    RAISING    of    the     FLAG 

Red  as  the  crimson  blood 
Of  Christ's  wide  brotherhood, 
Blue  with  the  unchanging  hope 
Of  heaven's  steadfast  cope, 
White  as  the  radiant  sun 
The  whole  earth  shining  on! 


87 


THE  BABE  OF  BETHLEHEM 

O  cruel  manger,  how  bleak,  how  bleak! 

For  the  limbs  of  the  babe,  my  God; 
Soft  little  limbs  on  the  cold,  cold  straw; 

Weep,  O  eyes,  for  thy  God! 

Bitter  ye  winds  in  the  frosty  night 

Upon  the  Babe,  my  God, 
Piercing  the  torn  and  broken  thatch; 

Lament,  0  heart,  for  thy  God! 

Bare  is  the  floor,  how  bare,  how  bare 
For  the  Babe's  sweet  mother,  my  God; 

Only  a  stable  for  mother  and  Babe; 
How  cruel  thy  world,  my  God! 

Cast  out,  cast  out,  by  his  brother  men 
Unknown  the  Babe,  my  God; 

The  ox  and  the  ass  alone  are  there; 
Soften,  0  heart,  for  thy  God! 

Dear  little  arms  and  sweet  little  hands, 
That  stretch  for  thy  mother,  my  God; 

Soft  baby  eyes  to  the  mother's  eyes; 
Melt,  O  heart,  for  thy  God! 


The    BABE    of    BETHLEHEM 

Waxen  touches  on  mother's  heart, 

Fingers  of  the  Babe,  my  God; 
Dear  baby  lips  to  her  virgin  breast, 

The  virgin  mother  of  God. 

The  shepherds  have  come  from  the  hills  to  adore 

The  Babe  in  the  manger,  my  God; 
Mary  and  Joseph  welcome  them  there; 

Worship,  O  soul,  thy  God! 

But  I  alone  may  not  come  near 

The  Babe  in  the  manger,  my  God; 
Weep  for  thy  sins,  O  heart,  and  plead 

With  Mary  the  mother  of  God. 

May  I  not  come,  oh,  just  to  the  door, 

To  see  the  Babe,  my  God; 
There  will  I  stop,  and  kneel  and  adore. 

And  weep  for  my  sins,  O  God! 

But  Mary  smiles,  and  rising  up. 

In  her  arms  the  Babe,  my  God, 
She  comes  to  the  door  and  bends  her  down. 

With  the  Babe  in  her  arms,  my  God! 

Her  sinless  arms  in  my  sinful  arms 

Places  the  Babe,  my  God; 
"He  has  come  to  take  thy  sins  away;" 

Break,  0  heart,  for  thy  God! 
89 


LOVE  SOLE 

I  know  the  shibboleth  that  shps 
So  oihly  from  unctuous  hps, 
Philanthropist  to  finger-tips; 

The  modern  Pharisaic  brood 
With  babble  of  the  general  good, 
And  shallow  cant  of  brotherhood. 

Theirs  but  the  mock  of  love,  the  weed 
And  bramble  of  degenerate  seed, 
The  face,  but  not  the  heart,  indeed. 

This  truth  is  truth  since  man  begun: 
True  love  begins  and  ends  in  one; 
The  love  of  all  is  love  of  none. 

Tis  false  we  love  the  general  man; 
True  love  is  mightier,  vaster,  than 
The  fetich  of  the  common  Pan. 

Centred  within  the  single  soul. 
Love  finds  the  cycle  of  its  whole. 
The  first  swift  impulse  and  the  goal. 


LOVE    SOLE 


Not  in  the  blurred  and  vulgar  mind 
Does  love  its  hallowed  image  find, 
But  in  itself  divinest  kind. 

And  rooted  thus  in  single  good, 
Scatters  the  blessings  of  its  mood, 
And  blossoms  unto  brotherhood. 


91 


THE  BURDEN 

Let  night  shut  out  the  cares  of  day, 
Blot  out  the  sense  of  wrong, 

And  in  the  bath  of  slumber  steep 
The  soul,  till  it  grow  strong. 

Then,  waking  with  the  coming  light, 

Arise,  and  go  thy  way. 
Leaving  the  burden  to  the  night 

That  bent  thee  yesterday. 


92 


HOW  POETS  PLAY 

How  do  poets  play? 
Of  their  own  souls 
Making  psalteries, 
Whose  music  rolls 
Toned  to  the  vibrant  ray 
Of  interstellar  harmonies; 
There  lightnings  involute 
With  lightnings,  shoot 

Athwart  the  flagrant  spaces  of  the  day, 
Till  sound  ensheathed  in  sound. 
Music  in  music  drowned, 
Flooding  the  still  depths  round, 

Swoon  in  fainting  silences  away. 


THE  LOWER  BOUGH 

Rest  on  the  lower  bough, 
Whose  wings  are  frail, 

Nor  seek  the  riotous  tops 
Lashed  by  the  gale. 

Let  not  ambition  tempt 

To  flutter  where 
The  eagle's  iron  wing 

May  scarcely  dare. 

All  native  to  the  sward 

And  leafy  shade, 
Thy  slender  treble  fills 

The  quiet  glade. 

But  in  the  upper  gale 

Thy  little  sound 
Were  like  a  rose-leaf  reft 

And  blown  around. 

Or  in  the  solitude 
Of  height  on  height. 

The  flickering  of  a  spark 
Within  the  light. 
94 


HEAVEN 


MOTHER 


A  little  child,  a  little  child 
With  childish  prattle  at  my  knee: 

I  did  not  know  how  near  was  Heaven, 
And  now  how  far  is  Heaven  from  me. 

FATHER 

Nay,  nearer  now,  since  Heaven  holds, 
As  hostage  of  our  plighted  love. 

The  child  that  Heaven  gave,  and  took 
To  show  true  Heaven  is  all  above. 


95 


CARMEN  NUPTIALE 

0  happiest  kalend  in  the  count  of  time! 

1  lift  my  voice  to  sing  thy  golden  hour : 
Of  all  thy  circling  sisters,  from  the  prime 
Of  Eve's  chaste  nuptials  in  the  sacred  bower 
Of  paradisial  innocence  and  love, 

Than  none  less  gracious  shalt  thou  prove. 

Thy  brooding  moment  holds  all  future  days. 

As  in  the  tender  egg  of  nesting  dove 

Lies  the  sweet  hope  to-come,  warmed  by  soft  rays 

From  love's  own  heart,  and  only  pleased  to  bring 

Life  to  its  joyous  spring. 

Mark  this  most  blest  amongst  all  time's  compeers; 

Of  past  pursuit  the  now  accomplished  goal. 

The  happier  dawn  that  lights  the  wakened  soul 

To  vaster  regions  in  the  round  of  years. 

To  larger  hopes  and  dearer  fears; 

Till  love  outgrows  all  measured  marge  and  leaps 

The  rim  of  time  to  God's  eternal  deeps! 


96 


SONNETS 


RETROGRESSION 

[The  United  States  declared  war  against  Spain  for  the 
liberation  of  Cuba.] 

We  gave  a  solemn  pledge,  and  called  on  Heaven 

To  hear;  our  arms,  we  swore,  were  Freedom's 
own, 

To  Freedom  consecrate,  and  her  alone; 
Our  valour  sprung  from  her  chaste  bosom,  given 
To  Freedom's  cause  forever;  and  her  levin 

We  forged  upon  the  footsteps  of  her  throne; 

Her  sword  unclasping  from  her  zone. 
She   placed  within  our   hands,   and  blessed   us 
shriven. 

O  solemn  mockery  of  her  holy  trust! 

Our  troth  forgot  and  slaked  our  noble  zeal, 
Our  brittle  honour  shattered  in  the  dust! 
A  riotous  people  drunk  with  conquest's  lust, 

In  bacchanalian  rout  we  onward  reel. 
And  'gainst  her  turn  her  own  ensanguined  steel! 


THE  POET^S  FANE 

Stop!    Come  not  anear  the  poet^s  fane 
Without  the  poet^s  robe  of  love;  the  spot 

Is  sacred,  red  with  sanctities  of  pain, 
That  blossom  flower-wise  in  a  garden  plot 

Fed  by  the  tilth  of  grief  and  weeping  rain; 

Poor  flowerets  dashed  with  sorrow's  purple  stain, 
Out  of  love's  youthful  shyness  first  begot, — 
Save  with  comp£ission's  hand  touch  thou  them 
not. 

But,  if  the  mellowing  grace  of  sjnnpathy 
Wells  as  a  kindred  fountain  in  thy  heart, 
Pour  out  the  generous  flood, —  stand  not  apart 
Enstranged;  shower  down  thy  golden  charity, 
And,  fed  by  that  great  largess,  thou  shalt  see 
These  drooping  flowerets  bloom  in  majesty. 


100 


THE  BABE 


How  strange  when  thou  wert  not,  a  life  to-be! 
Nor  ready  fancy  playing  fondly  drew 
Thine  unguessed  lineaments  in  shape  or  hue, 

Wrapt  in  the  womb  of  possibility. 

Where  silence  brooded  o'er  the  darkened  sea 
Rolling  a  soundless  tide;  nor  hint  nor  clew 
Was  murmured  from  that  voiceless  deep,  nor 
blew 

A  message  on  the  winds  to  tell  of  thee. 

We  know  not  whence,  but  like  a  sudden  light 
From  darkness  flashing  out,  and  all  aglow 
With  radiant  light,  thy  being  burst  to  flame! 
But  now  the  unseen  held  thee  from  our  sight. 
An  unborn  mystery,  undreamed  —  and  lo! 
Love  called,  and  thou  didst  answer  to  thy 
name. 

n 

Sweet  mystery,  thou  living  soul  with  eyes 
To  gaze  upon  the  shifting  scene  that  plays 
In  ceaseless  change  about  life's  narrow  ways, 
101 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

And  wondering  gather  'neath  the  circling  skies 

The  fleeting,  variant  image  as  it  flies, 

While  time  with  nimble  shuttle  weaves  the  days 
Around  thine  unconcerned  head,  and  lays 

His  ghttering  thread  athwart  thy  destinies; 

Echoes  of  life  around  thee  come  and  go 
Unheeded,  Uke  the  muflfled  sounds  that  fill 
The  lonely  watches  of  the  central  deep, 
When  midnight  bends  aloft  her  sable  bow. 
And  feathered  silence  falls  around,  as  still 
As  utter  peace  and  quiet  as  dreamless  sleep. 


102 


THE  SONNET 


Within  the  sonnet^s  glittering  limit  lies 

The  diamond's  royal  fire,  Wordsworthian  verse 
Wedding  high  thought  with  noble  music,  terse 

With  wisdom;  there  the  opalescent  dyes 

Of  love-light  from  a  Petrarch's  brimming  eyes; 
The  luted  plaint  that  chastened  Dante's  curse; 
Miltonic  echoes  organ  pealed,  the  nurse 

Of  solemn  sounds  brought  down  from  midnight 
skies. 

It  measures  with  the  royal  tread  of  kings, 
And  treasures  wealth  too  precious  to  be  hid 
In  wanton  rhymes  and  idly  footed  Hnes; 
Or  upward  soaring,  as  an  eagle,  wings 
Its  way  to  empyrean  calms  amid 
The  tuneful  silence  of  the  topmost  Apennines. 


II 

They  say  the  sonnet  is  a  narrow  pale, 
A  little  garden  straitly  hedged  around 
Where  only  slender  flowerets  may  be  found, 

But  no  brave  blossom  lusty  with  the  gale 
103 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

And  the  untempered  sun;  and  in  its  bound 
Pale  poets  gently  pipe  in  plaintive  sound 
The  sifted  sweetness  of  love's  distant  bale 
On  reeds  all  murmurous  of  the  underground. 

Yet  trumpet  tongues  have  found  swift  utterance 
here 
And  freedom  loosed  her  fiery-hearted  levin, 
And  earth  has  trembled  with  the  solemn  fear 
Of    harmonies    breathed    from    the    stooping 

heaven 
E'en  in  this  slender  compass  closely  pent 
A  master's  voice  may  shake  the  firmament! 


104 


ANARCHY 

[The   Empress   of  Austria   was   assassinated   by   an 
anarchist  in  Geneva  in  August,  1898.] 

Red  hand,  black  heart,  beast  with  the  dragon's 
face; 

Thou  hundred-headed  horror  breathing  death 
And  dole  across  the  fair  world's  rounded  space, 

Blurring  the  wholesome  sun  with  tainted  breath. 

Back  to  thine  ancient  slime,  blind  whelp  of 
wrath! 
Amid  the  dragons  of  the  prime,  thy  place; 

Thy  law  the  lust  of  tooth  and  claw;  thy  path, 
Like  Lucifer's  to  gaping  Hell's  embrace! 

Black  heart,  red  hand  smiting  her  queenly  breast. 
Thinking  in  rabid  rage  to  rend  the  law. 

Blind  as  the  snarling  tiger  in  his  quest 
For  prey;   from  her  spent  blood  shall  Justice 
draw 

Swift  strength  to  hurl  upon  thy  viper's  nest 
The  outraged  nations'  deep  anathema! 


105 


VANITAS    VANITATUM 


Is  life  as  empty  as  the  poet  sings 
In  lamentation  o'er  the  shattered  days 
That  strew  the  banks  of  time,  and  mark  our 
ways 

With  the  sad  wreckage  of  the  hopeful  springs, 

That  promised  golden  havens,  when  the  wings 
Of  joy  expectant  flashed  empurpled  rays 
Athwart  the  far  horizon's  golden  haze. 

And  lured  us  on  with  her  soft  glamourings? 

Alack!  the  mask  upon  the  countenance 

Of  time  to  cheat  us  with  the  teasing  thought, 

That  he  abides  eternally,  perchance; 

Till  we  hke  eager  searchers,  who  have  sought 

A  fleeing  form  through  all  the  giddy  dance. 
Find  'neath  the  mask  the  eyes  of  Death  in- 
wrought. 


106 


VANITAS    VANITATUM 


II 

Can  it  be  true  that  time  is  but  a  breath 
Of  nothingness,  a  shadowy  fihn  that  lies 
Upon  the  senses  steeped  in  carnal  dyes, 

That  bleach  before  the  stinging  touch  of  death; 

A  moving  vanity  with  faded  wreath; 
An  empty  image  mirrored  in  the  eyes. 
As  shadows  in  salt  pools  from  shallow  skies, — 

Life  a  pale  ghost,  the  grave  an  empty  sheath? 

O  bitterness  to  sour  the  imfound  sweet. 

The  sweet  pursued  with  ever-quickening  chase. 

And  still  pursued,  yet  ever  found  more  fleet;  — 
Hasten,  O  Soul,  hasten  thy  hurrying  pace!  — 
Alas !  thou'rt  still  a  laggard  in  the  race. 

Though  shod  with  lightnings  were  thy  rushing 
feet! 


107 


LOVE'S  FRUIT 

There  was  a  little  life  that  beat  from  mine, 
A  httle  hand  that  clasped  my  hand,  and  eyes 
That  looked  in  mine  with  all  love's  mysteries, 
So  deep,  so  true,  so  tender,  so  divine. 

That  I  could  read  therein  the  lucent  sign 

Of  heavenly  things  that  speak  not  human  wise. 
But  find  their  utterance  in  the  distant  skies 

Where  far  withdrawn  God's  holiest  secrets  shine. 

And  though  my  heart  is  bruised,  and  all  my  soul 
Quivers  with  pain,  in  patience  I  abide 
The  grief  that  shadows  all  the  world  with  gloom: 

I  know  that  loss  and  grief  are  not  the  whole 
Of  life,  that  Love  is  not  Death's  barren  bride, 
But  bears  immortal  fruit  within  her  womb. 


108 


MARCH 

Uproarious  month!    Spent  winter's  dying  wrath, 
Howling  across  the  waste  and  charging  down 
Upon  the  groaning  woodland's  shrieking  town, 

Lashing  the  helpless  boughs,  and  in  thy  path 

Scattering  thy  spoils  in  hapless  aftermath;  — 
Blow,  blow  thy  spirit's  turbulence,  and  frown 
Thy  darkest  from  the  sullen  skies,  and  crown 

Thy  war  with  all  the  rage  that  winter  hath! 

Thou  stormy  image  of  the  turbid  soul 
Swollen  with  winter  of  its  barren  pride. 
The  monstrous  Hon  of  anger  roaring  there 
With  raucous  breath  and  rending  all  the  air 
With  fearful  bellowings,  that  rush  and  roll 
Mad  whirlwinds  heaping  ruin  far  and  wide! 


109 


APRIL 

Half  fearful,  half  in  joy,  with  tearful  eyes 
Thou  comest  little  maiden,  tender  bride. 
Timid  but  loving  by  the  bridegroom's  side, 

Thy  feet  reluctant  to  the  path  that  lies 

Before  thee  under  half  enclouded  skies; 
Yet  in  thy  heart  emboldened  to  confide 
In  him  who  leads  thee  as  thy  constant  guide 

To  the  rich  blooms  of  love's  full  paradise. 

Cast  out  all  maiden  fear,  thou  little  wife; 
The  way  before  thee  broadens  into  light 
And  deepens  into  all  the  flower  of  May; 
With  thee  is  promise  of  the  coming  life. 

The  glowing  hour  of  Summer's  rounded  height, 
The  golden  glory  of  deep  Autumn's  day. 


110 


CHRISTUS  TRIUMPHANS 
I 

Mors  Victor 

Before  thy  grisly  front  no  man  may  stand; 
No  heart  but  quakes  at  sounding  of  thy  feet; 
Thy  coming  none  may  flee,  though  ne'er  so 
fleet, 
And  trembling  earth  confesses  thy  command. 
From  kings  their  crowns  thou  pluck'st  and  from 
the  hand 
Of  Power  its  scepter;  thou  mock'st  the  vacant 

seat 
Of  Pride  or  Love;  nor  high  nor  low  degree  may 
cheat 
Thee  of  thy  tribute.  Lord  of  sea  and  land. 

Dreadful  art  thou,  and  terrible  thy  power 
Against  our  piteous  frailty  doomed  to  die! 
Weakly  we  lift  our  fending  hands  in  vain, 
And  crouching  wait  the  inexorable  hour, 
The  thunderbolt  of  thy  dark  sovereignty 
To  smite  and  blast  us  with  its  mighty  pain! 
Ill 


COLLECTED    POEMS 


II 

Mors  Vida 

Babes  now  may  smile  into  thy  sunless  eye 
And  fear  thee  not,  prone  in  thy  kindred  dust; 
No  longer  reck  we  thine  insatiate  lust 

Of  this  our  crumbling  brief  mortality. 

Time  is  our  bound  no  more;  this  narrow  sky 
Metes  not  our  vision;  vaster  is  our  trust 
Than  all  the  regions  of  thy  moth  and  rust, 

Since  passing  now  we  know  we  do  not  die. 

For  risen  is  our  Christ,  and  with  Him  we; 
And  prostrate  thou  beside  His  open  grave, 
O  Ancient  Victor  in  thy  first  defeat 
And  everlasting!    Smiling  now  we  see 
Thou  art  but  shadow  with  a  broken  glaive, 
Within  thy  futile  hands  His  winding-sheet. 


112 


SONNET  SEQUENCE 


I  care  not  what  the  colour  of  her  hair; 

Her  beauty  cometh  not  from  dark  or  fair: 

For  round  her  head  Love's  haloed  glories  throw 

A  luminous  light  more  soft  and  brilliant  far 

Than  on  the  evening's  front  its  tender  star 

Burns  clear  above  the  sunken  sun  below. 

I  never  saw  the  colour  of  her  eyes; 

I  only  care  to  know  that  in  them  Hes 

A  Hmpid  depth  that  melts  before  the  gaze 

In  softer  deeper  lights  expanding  clear 

Into  the  soul's  intenser  atmosphere; 

And  there  I  worship  uttering  praise 

To  God's  high  craft,  that  he  has  made  to  shine 

Such  wondrous  beauty  in  so  fair  a  shrine. 


II 

Love  never  jests,  though  in  his  words  at  times 
He  seems  to  laugh  in  folly's  motley  mood, 
And  like  a  fool  makes  merry  with  stale  rhymes 
To  jangle  down  the  plaints  of  solitude. 
113 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Alas!  his  mirth  is  but  a  mask  to  hide 
The  gnawing  fire  that  'neath  this  mummery  glows; 
Though  all  seem  fair  upon  the  outward  side, 
Within  there  dwell  a  host  of  warring  woes. 
Despair  with  pallid  front  now  seeks  to  drive 
Hope  from  the  citadel,  who  fain  would  stay; 
And  so  these  two  in  war  contending  strive, 
While  gentle  Love  stands  trembling  at  the  fray: 
Come  thou,  fair  Queen,  and  end  this  cruelty. 
For  Love  allegiance  owes  and  pays  alone  to  thee. 


Ill 

What  is  to  love?    Let  Love  the  answer  give: 
It  is  to  lose  thyself,  thyself  to  die, 
And  yet  in  djdng  find  that  thou  dost  live; 
To  spend  thy  being's  breath  upon  a  sigh, 
And  draw  all  joy  where  mostly  thou  dost  grieve: 
Yet  in  the  breathing  of  thy  life  away 
New  life,  more  Hfe  the  fond  soul  seems  to  gain; 
And  though  each  hope  that  comes,  refuse  to  stay, 
For  all  that  go,  a  budding  host  remain. 
To  love  is  both  to  die  and  live  again; 
Unto  thine  other  self  thyself  to  give. 
Surrendering  all  the  good  that  thou  mayst  hold, 
Losing  thyself  to  find  a  hundred-fold. 
The  lesser  yielding  that  the  greater  learn  to  live. 
114 


SONNET   SEQUENCE 


IV 

What  pain  for  love  will  not  the  heart  endure! 
The  heaviness  that  comes  of  fell  despair, 
The  agony  of  hopes  that  vain  allure, 
And  in  the  seizing  vanish  in  thin  air. 
Like  desert  images  unto  the  eyes 
Of  one,  who  sees  a  flowering  paradise 
Along  a  stretch  of  placid  waters  cool, 
Where  shades  of  palm  shield  off  the  burning  ray, 
And  yielding  turfs  beside  a  Umpid  pool 
Invite  to  rest  forever  and  a  day  — 
An  empty  mirage  by  a  barren  way. 
As  one  all  desolate  in  lonely  lands. 
Cries  out  and  prays  with  weak  uplifted  hands. 
From  this  sad  waste  to  thee  I  cry,  O  Love,  and 
pray. 


When  she's  not  near,  then  pleasure  flies  my  life, 
And  misery  and  I  sit  down  and  moan, 
And  make  a  sad  complaint  Hke  man  and  wife, 
Who  bear  Love's  chains  when  Love  himself  has 

flown. 
And  when  I  think  of  all  her  presence  is. 
And  then  do  reckon  all  the  gain  I  miss, — 
115 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

The  dead  dull  night  for  want  of  her  clear  eyes, 
The  scentless  air  for  lack  of  her  sweet  breath, 
The  absent  music  of  her  fond  replies, — 
Life's  emptiness  is  but  the  ghost  of  death. 
An  exile  from  the  happy  light,  I  brood 
Upon  the  bitterness  my  soul  now  tastes, 
In  desolation  worse  than  desert  wastes 
Or  polar  fields  of  starless  sohtude. 


VI 

What  offering  shall  I  make  unto  my  love. 

What  worthy  treasure  lies  in  my  slight  store? 

When  I  do  count  its  slender  contents  o'er, 

Alas!  its  poverty  does  only  move 

To  tears,  that  I  should  find  myself  so  poor: 

Mine  not  the  glory  of  great  deeds  in  war. 

Mine  not  the  laurel  of  poetic  brows, 

Mine  not  the  lustre  of  the  civic  star, 

Nor  any  meed  that  sparing  fame  allows;  — 

How  rich  in  worth  is  she,  how  poor  my  house! 

All  wealth  of  glorious  deeds  at  her  dear  feet 

I  deem  an  offering  only  just  and  meet. 

And  I,  O  grief!  my  empty  hands  uplift; 

Alas!  what  hope  may  be  for  me  who  have  no  gift! 


116 


SONNET   SEQUENCE 


VII 

Enclasped  in  thy  dear  thought,  0  sweet  Love, 

hold 
Me  innermost  and  highest  influence. 
As  dwells  within  the  rose-leaves'  tender  fold 
The  subtle  life  that  breathes  most  sweetly  thence 
Its  fragrant  beauty  to  the  raptured  sense. 
Ah,  soon  the  gentle  Hfe  of  flowers  will  die, 
And  into  nothingness  their  beauties  fade. 
But  Love  is  an  eternal  gift,  and  I 
With  it  would  always  live,  immortal  made 
In  its  sweet  largess.    Then  unto  thine  eye 
Let  me  be  chiefest  Hght,  and  colour  give 
To  all  else  thou  mayst  see,  and  all  deUght 
Of  living  make  for  thee;  for  Hfe  is  hght, 
And  I  would  be  the  hght  that  makes  thee  Hve. 


vm 

In  full  effulgence  flood  the  world  with  light, 
O  Sun,  thy  fiery  course  soon  run  and  die; 
And  on  fleet-footed  flying  steps,  0  Night, 
Wheehng  thy  miUion  fires  in  haste  pass  by; 
Haste,  Life,  and  breathe  this  fingering  day  away, 
As  frozen  breath  upon  the  winter  air, 
117 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

That  suffers  for  the  instant  swift  delay, 
But  melts  ere  eye  has  time  to  trace  it  there; 
Or  else  with  dreamless  opiate  come,  0  Sleep, 
And  shutting  out  this  slow-paced  lapse  of  things, 
In  deepest  slumber  this  sad  present  steep, 
Until  the  morrow  all  its  promise  brings: 
So  would  I  cheat  slow  Time,  who  now  cheats  me. 
And  holds  me  bond,  where  Love  alone  can  make 
me  free. 

IX 

And  why  should  I  be  born  to  change  and  chance, 
Evil's  rebuff  and  good  things  gone  askance. 
Time's  tortuous  doubt  and   Fortune's   circum- 
stance? 
Pursuing  visions  Hope  has  made  to  snare, 
Loath  prisoner  to  watchful  jailer.  Care, 
Lost  victim  of  inquisitor.  Despair! 
In  vain  succession  seeking  permanence, 
Emphantomed  by  the  fleeting  ghosts  of  sense, 
O  sliding  Life,  what  barren  recompense! 
The  Present  from  the  Future  borrowing  blood, 
The  Past  forever  tombing  present  good. 
All  parts  of  Time  a  thieving  brotherhood ! 
Yet  let  my  Love  but  look  with  her  bright  eyes, 
And  all  this  desert  blossoms  into  Paradise! 


118 


SONNET    SEQUENCE 


I  ask  thee  for  thy  love,  but  it  must  be 

In  hearts  that  give  and  take  this  gift  most  blest 

Of  all  that  dwell  within  the  human  breast, 

Sweet  interchange  of  mutual  liberty; 

For  love  is  no  true  gift,  save  it  be  free. 

And  if  of  freedom  it  be  not  possest, 

I  ask  it  not;  for  I  am  as  a  guest 

Who  but  receives  as  thou  mayst  give  to  me. 

Then  say  that  we  together  shall  abide 

As  host  and  guest  within  Love's  sacred  home, 

Each  gaining  freedom  in  the  other's  gift. 

Each  yielding  up  the  loneliness  of  pride, 

I  never  more  in  barren  ways  to  roam. 

And  thou  no  more  on  stormy  seas  to  drift. 


XI 

MIZPAH 

Though  Ocean  'twixt  us  pour  its  watery  war. 
And  soaring  mountains  frowning  barriers  rear; 
Though  Time  divide  by  an  unceasing  year, 
And  Space  with  all  its  utmost  limits  bar. 
Yet  in  His  watching  ever  art  thou  near, 
And  I  from  thee  can  never  be  afar. 
119 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

And  Love,  that  built  this  universal  frame, 
And  thy  sweet  heart  that  beats  all  love  for  me. 
Breathes  benediction  in  that  holiest  name 
Of  love  with  promise  of  eternity. 
So  sealed  by  that  dear  bond  we  twain  shall  go, 
Unsundered  by  the  walls  of  Time  and  Space, 
Together  through  the  sounding  pass  of  woe. 
Till  that  high  Love  look  on  us  face  to  face. 


120 


THE    DEATH    OF    SIR 
LAUNCELOT 

So  groaned  Sir  Launcelot  in  remorseful  pain, 
Not  knowing  he  should  die  a  holy  man." 

TENNYSON. 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIR  LAUNCELOT 

At  Canterbury  seven  years  a  monk 
Sir  Launcelot  had  abode.     For  Arthur  passed, 
And  all  the  goodly  fellowship  of  knights 
Broken  and  scattered  through  his  mighty  sin 
With  Guinevere,  he  sought  to  purge  his  guilt 
By  prayers  and  fasting  and  the  biting  scourge 
Within  the  holy  life,  till  chastened  love, 
Freed  from  the  clogging  dross  of  earthly  passion, 
Leap  a  shooting  jBame  upward  to  Heaven, 

Seven  years  he  there  abode,  and  ever  grew 
To  holier  ways  in  spiritual  might 
As  great  as  erst  his  prowess  in  the  lists. 
When  first  amongst  the  knights  he  overthrew 
All  comers  in  the  jousts  and  won  the  prize. 
And  there  he  learned  the  smallness  of  his  fame 
And  all  the  greatness  of  his  sin  with  power 
To  drag  down  Arthur's  mighty  realm  to  ruin. 
And  from  the  bitterness  of  that  vast  grief 
He  fed  his  soul  with  constant  tears  to  bloom 
In  penitential  fruits,  for  he  was  come 
To  be  a  holy  man  with  gift  to  see 
That  time  is  shadow  of  eternity, 
123 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

And  all  the  uses  of  our  mortal  hours 

But  vanity,  save  as  the  generous  seed 

Sown  for  the  reaping  in  high  heaven's  demesne. 

And  so  Sir  Launcelot  waxed  in  holiness; 
And  from  the  ashes  of  his  sinful  past 
Stirred  by  the  ceaseless  breath  of  penitence, 
Blew,  first,  the  fainting  spark  of  higher  love. 
And  last,  the  glowing  fire,  whose  lambent  flame 
Eat  out  the  grossness  of  the  carnal  will. 
And,  then,  with  ardent  tongue  aspiring  leaped 
To  union  with  celestial  fires,  whence  came 
The  heat  and  quickening  of  its  swift  desire. 

And  in  the  furnace  of  that  inward  love 
The  man  was  changed  beyond  all  mortal  knowing; 
For  he  had  dwined  away  to  ghostUness, 
Until  the  shining  spirit  burned  and  glowed 
Through  flesh  and  bone  worn  to  translucency. 
And  all  his  face  shone  Uke  Sir  Galahad's, 
Who  saw  the  Holy  Grail,  and  hke  to  hers, 
The  virgin  sister  of  Sir  Percival, 
Who  sent  the  deathless  ardor  of  her  eyes 
In  Galahad's,  and  made  her  virgin  purpose 
One  with  his  virgin  will,  forever  wed 
To  chastity  and  to  the  higher  life. 
Till  caught  up  in  an  ecstasy  he  passed 
124 


The  DEATH  o/SIR  LAUNCELOT 

Beyond,  in  vision  of  the  Sacred  Cup. 

But  Launcelot  came  to  holiness  by  penance, 

Like  stubborn  ore  seven  times  over  passed 

Through  the  refiner's  fire,  till  it  come  forth 

Pure  golden,  purged  of  all  its  earthiness 

And  aUen  dross.     For  many  ways  has  God 

To  draw  His  creature  to  Himself,  and  steep 

It  in  the  gracious  furnace  of  His  love : 

Some  as  Sir  Galahad  through  innocence, 

Whose  white  flower  blossomed  from  his  cradled 

years. 
Some  as  the  holy  nun  through  human  love. 
Which  rooted  first  in  man's  frail  faith  withered. 
But  after  grew  to  fruit  in  heavenly  soil; 
And  some  as  Launcelot  through  the  dolorous  way 
Of  penance  cleansing  all  the  sinful  past 
With  prayer  and  fasting,  till  this  mortal  house 
Grow  luminant  with  grace,  and  in  the  eyes 
The  Spirit  shines  with  love's  interior  flame. 
Like  windows  glowing  with  an  inner  light 
From  out  an  ancient  hall,  wherein  they  hold 
High  feast  for  coming  of  their  absent  lord, 
After  long  years  of  exile  from  his  hearth. 

For  after  that  great  battle  in  the  west. 
Where  Arthur  smote  the  traitor  Modred  down, 
And  wounded  sore  was  borne  by  Bedivere 
125 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Down  to  the  margin  of  the  sleeping  mere, 

And  went  into  the  barge  that  hoved  there, 

And  passed  with  those  three  hooded  queens,  who 

holped 
The  fainting  king  unto  the  happy  isles, 
Sir  Launcelot,  heavy  with  the  grievous  word. 
Came  back  from  over  seas,  and  sought  the  queen 
At  Almesbury,  whither  she  had  fled  the  wrath 
Of  Arthur,  knowing  not  the  king  would  come 
To  bless  her  with  forgiveness,  not  to  bane. 

And  there  to  be  a  holy  nun  the  queen 
Abode  and  clothed  herself  in  black  and  white. 
As  nuns  are  wont,  veiling  her  beauty's  fire 
With  weeds  of  penance,  as  evening's  ardourous 

star 
Burns  all  enclouded  in  the  vapourous  west. 
When  heaven  weeps  a  djang  day  of  autunm, 
Sinking  behind  grey  banks  of  broken  storm. 

And  hither  over  seas  Sir  Launcelot  came. 
When  Arthur  passed  and  bold  Sir  Gawain  died; 
And  sought  the  queen,  thinking  within  his  heart 
Old  thoughts,  that  came  and  went  and  came  again 
Like  sudden  birds  on  winter's  leafless  boughs 
Chattering  a  noisy  chorus  for  the  food 
They  find  not,  locked  within  the  whitened  land 
126 


TheBEATR   of  SIR   LAUNCELOT 

Forgetful  of  the  summer's  lavishness. 
And  so  the  memories  of  the  summer  hours 
Came  fluttering  in  the  winter  of  his  grief, 
Where  all  was  barrenness,  and  found  no  place 
Of  solace  for  the  bitterness  of  joys 
Long  past,  remembered  sweets  but  present  pangs. 
And  all  the  glamour  of  his  fame  died  out 
Within  his  heart  and  lay  in  dust  and  ashes, 
Like  fires  gone  out  within  a  wasted  land. 
And  making  lamentation  for  his  sin. 
His  soul  grew  black  as  death  with  gathering  pain 
At  seeing  the  vast  emptiness  of  life 
Wrought  in  the  vanity  of  things  long  passed; 
And  all  the  shadows  of  his  vanished  days 
Trooped  mockingly  before  him  as  to  say: 
"Behold  the  wraiths  of  thine  own  deeds  misdone, 
And  all  the  hollowness  of  time  misspent.'' 
And  pointing  ghostly  fingers  at  him,  jeered 
Accusingly,  and  beat  him  down  in  shame. 
And  what  of  good  and  pure  he  once  had  wrought 
Drew  back  affrighted,  waihng  at  the  strength 
Of  evil  deeds  grown  old  with  years  of  custom. 

And  so  as  in  a  swoon  Sir  Launcelot  lay. 
Sunk  in  the  blackness  of  that  ghostly  night, 
Unrecking  time  and  all  the  world  about: 
And  from  the  dripping  east  the  sunless  day 
127 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Rose  heavily,  and  wheeled  a  clouded  arc 
Through  weeping  skies  down  to  the  shrouded 

west, 
And  sank  in  darkness,  o'er  the  world's  blurred 

rim. 
And  the  bare  woodland's  leafless  limbs  made  moan 
With  requiem  winds  dirging  the  dying  year. 
That,  whistling  through  the  empty  rookeries. 
Shrilled  ghostly  music  in  the  abbey  towers. 
But  Launcelot  lay  and  heeded  not,  lost 
Within  the  deeper  night  that  whehned  his  soul; 
Till  on  the  second  day  the  abbey  bell. 
Clanging  its  noisy  message  o'er  the  walls. 
With  sudden  onset  smote  his  startled  ear. 
And  roused  his  smothered  soul  from  out  its  swoon, 
While  through  the  wakening  senses  poured  the 

tides 
Of  life  in  rushing  streams  of  sight  and  sound. 

Then  rising  up  Sir  Launcelot  strode  a  pace 
And  reeled  with  giddiness,  but  onward  pressed 
And  stood  before  the  abbey's  massy  gates; 
And  thereon  smiting  with  his  hilted  sword, 
The  startled  corridors  grew  clamourous 
With  replicated  echoes  rumbling  far 
Like  distant  thunder  through  the  cloistered  cells. 
And  into  solemn  silence  died  again. 
128 


The  DEATH  o/SIR  LAUNCELOT 

And  hearing,  Guinevere  rose  up  and  paused; 
And  all  her  heart  went  trembling  through  her 

limbs; 
But  praying  on  high  God  she  called  to  stay 
Her  weakness,  and  in  the  sacred  power  of  prayer 
Gathered  the  scattered  forces  of  her  will. 
Resolved  against  herself  and  him,  who  came 
To  plead  against  her  better  self  and  his. 
Once  only,  for  a  little  moment  swayed 
Her  resolution,  when  she  heard  the  craunch 
Of  armed  footsteps  on  the  virgin  flags. 
Wavered  a  sudden  instant,  then  rooted  firm. 
And  Launcelot  coming  saw,  and  stood  amazed, 
Scarce  knowing  her;  for  all  unlike  the  queen. 
Whose    beauty    flashed    of    yore    in    Arthur's 

court 
From  snowy  arms  of  rounded  perfectness 
And  shoulders  purer  than  the  hly's  glow. 
Crowned  with  a  wanton  wealth  of  sunny  hair 
Above  the  fulness  of  her  columned  throat, 
Her  queenly  stature  rose  before  him  robed 
And  veiled  in  solemn  folds  of  black  and  white, 
Her  lustrous  beauty  chastened  and  eclipsed, 
Yet  temperately  shining  through  her  garb 
Of  soberness,  as  pearls  a  radiant  moon 
Behind  a  fleece  of  clouds  illuminate 
With  hidden  light. 

129 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

With  broken  voice  at  first, 
Like  brooklet  hesitating  over  flats 
And  shallows,  but  gathering  fuller  flood  and  depth 
At  last  flows  smooth  and  strong  through  widen- 
ing fields. 
She  spake  to  Launcelot  sunken  on  his  knee 
In  knightly  courtesy:  ** Through  thee  and  me, 
Sir  Launcelot,  all  the  goodliest  fellowship 
Of  knights  the  needful  world  has  ever  seen 
Is  utterly  dispersed,  and  Arthur's  work, 
The  building  of  a  realm  of  love  and  law. 
Wherein  the  man  is  lord  of  beast  and  lust, 
And  Christ  is  King  (0  blind  was  I  not  seeing!) 
Is  all  undone;  and  treason,  war  and  death 
Have  seized  upon  the  realm  and  ravened  it, 
Laying  the  land  all  waste  and  desolate; 
Till  wolves  now  sniff  the  blackened  hearth,  where 

men 
Were  wont  to  sit  before  their  household  blaze; 
And  all  the  fields  lie  choked  with  riotous  weeds, 
Where   waxed   the   bearded   grain   laughing   to 

heaven 
With  plenty,  sowed  and  reaped  in  Arthur's  peace, 
From  shore  to  shore  through  lengthening  year  to 

year. 
Through  me  and  thee  hath  all  this  ill  been  wrought; 
For  in  our  sinful  love  this  grief  has  come 
130 


The  DEATH  o/SIR  LAUNCELOT 

Upon  the  land,  and  on  us  lies  the  dole 
Of  unpurged  guilt,  who  sinned  so  easily 
And  erred  so  greatly,  seeing  now  how  deep 
The  wound  we  wrought  so  lightly,  and  how  sore 
The  hurt,  whence  comes  confusion  and  the  death 
To  all  that  Arthur  built  so  beautiful. 
So  wit  thou  now.  Sir  Knight,  my  souFs  sad  plight, 
And  how  I  seek  God's  pardon  having  hope 
In  Christ's  high  blood  for  my  soul's  after  health, 
And  yet  to  see  His  Blessed  Face  through  grace 
Of  God  when  I  have  purged  me  of  my  sins 
In  this  quiet  house  of  prayer,  and  laid  aside 
The  frailty  of  this  flesh  through  which  I  sinned. 
For  well  I  know  in  heaven  is  many  a  saint. 
Who  sinned  as  I,  yet  after  won  the  height 
By  Christ's  dear  mercy  and  his  precious  blood. 
Wherefore,  Sir  Launcelot,  I  beseech  thee  go; 
Leave  thou  me  here  to  work  my  penance  out. 
That  rooting  up  the  tares  of  time  abused, 
I  sow  celestial  seed  for  heavenly  gain; 
For  well  as  I  have  loved  thee  sinfully, 
My  heart  forbids  I  love  thee  shamefully, 
As  once  I  loved  forgetful  of  my  place 
And  that  high  destiny  wherein  I  failed; 
And  this  I  pray  for  thy  soul's  health  and  mine. 
Farewell!  betake  thee  to  thy  realm  again. 
And  guard  it  well  from  war  and  wrack,  and  there 
131 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Take  thee  a  wife  for  joy  and  for  an  heir 
To  bear  thy  name  and  do  thy  work  hereafter; 
Till  righted  be  the  wrong  of  our  misliving, 
And  from  the  ashes  of  the  dolorous  past 
Push  forth  the  blossom  of  a  fairer  hour, 
In  promise  of  the  nobler  fruit  to  come 
Now  blighted  by  the  canker  of  our  loves." 

And  Launcelot  kneeling  bowed  his  knightly  head, 
And  felt  his  heart  strain  'gainst  his  corselet's 

girth, 
Well-nigh  to  bursting  with  the  swollen  floods 
Of  grief  surging  and  shocking  in  his  ears 
At  thought  of  his  unknightly  faithlessness. 
Made  naked  and  ashamed  by  utter  truth 
Of  her  calm  words  accusing  and  accused. 
And  groaning  answered  Launcelot  sore  at  heart: 
''Would  ye,  sweet  Madame,  that  I  go  again 
Unto  my  country?     Nay,  I  never  shall; 
Nor  take  me  there  a  wife;  for  on  high  God 
I  call,  that  I  in  thee  have  ever  had 
Mine  earthly  joy,  and  false  shall  never  prove. 
Now  wit  thee  well,  I  make  a  knightly  vow, 
That  ne'er  again  in  other  shall  I  joy; 
But  that  same  choice  which  thou  hast  made,  I 

make; 
And  hence  will  seek  the  holy  life  to  mend 
132 


The  DEATH  o/SIR  LAUNCELOT 

My  grievous  past  for  Jesu's  sake  and  health 

Of  mine  own  soul.     For  now  I  see  full  well 

The  mickle  vanity  of  praise,  and  how 

A  summer  cloudlet  puffed  by  wanton  winds 

Our  slender  hour  of  fame  is  blown  and  lost 

Within  the  endless  vaultage  of  the  skies. 

No  more  I  seek  the  glory  of  the  j&eld 

Or  tourney's  prize,  a  little  dust  of  deeds 

Raised  by  the  fitful  breath  of  jealous  time 

To  settle  back  upon  its  native  earth 

In  dust  again  beneath  the  heedless  feet 

Of  men  remembering  not.    And  since,  my  Queen, 

Ye  have  renounced  the  sounding  world's  rank 

pomp 
To  seek  the  perfect  way  for  Jesu's  sake, 
I  one  with  thee  in  all  that  grievous  past. 
And  knowing  now  the  canker  at  the  root 
Of  love  that  runneth  not  the  course  of  God, 
Must  needs  of  right  seek  out  the  prayerful  way, 
And  follow  it  with  hope  in  Christ's  high  blood 
Of  sin  forgiven  and  of  pardon  won. 
Farewell!  and  I  beseech  thee  let  thy  voice 
Go  up  to  heaven  for  me  as  mine  for  thee. 
That  seeing  how  we  wronged  high  God  together, 
And  each  made  other's  hurt  in  cither's  love, 
Together  we  may  storm  the  citadel 
Of  His  vast  mercy,  each  in  other's  prayers 
133 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Winning  Christ's  healing  for  the  other's  wound." 
And  saying  Launcelot  rose,  and  going  passed 
The  abbey's  massy  gates,  that  closed  behind. 
And  sent  their  muffled  clang  to  where  the  queen 
Stood,  a  statue  marbled  into  grief, 
Then  hke  a  fainting  hly  swayed  and  fell 
Prone,  till  ministered  by  tender  hands 
Of  holy  women  loving  and  beloved. 

And  Launcelot  through  the  naked  forest  rode, 

Like  one  who  wanders  witless  in  a  dream. 

Nor  heeded  aught  the  roar  of  lashing  boughs 

Tumultuous  with  tempestuous  blasts  icy 

With  winter  and  keen  as  fangs  of  famished  wolves. 

A  day  and  night  he  rode,  nor  recked  the  way. 

Till  on  the  morning  of  the  second  sun 

He  chanced  upon  a  hermitage,  where  dwelt 

A  holy  man  wasted  with  fasts  and  prayer. 

And  Launcelot  there  alighting  knelt  him  down, 

And  crying  out  besought  the  holy  man 

To  shrive  him  and  assoil  him,  come  to  make 

Amend  to  Heaven  by  penitence  and  prayer 

For  years  of  guilty  love  heavy  with  hell. 

And  knowing  him  the  hermit  blessed  and  spake 
Large  words  of  comfort  and  of  Jesu's  love. 
And  to  his  crying  barkened  shriving  him; 
134 


The   DEATHo/  SIR   LAUNCELOT 

And  bade  him  strip  him  of  his  shining  mail; 
And  on  him  placed  the  habit  of  a  monk, 
The  sober  garment  of  the  world  of  prayer, 
And  token  of  the  will  to  perfect  life 
In  him  who  walks  no  more  the  paths  of  men 
But  treads  the  single  way  of  Christ. 

So  dwelt 
Sir  Launcelot  at  the  hermitage,  a  monk 
In  arduous  striving  for  the  perfect  life. 
And  fierce  at  first  the  struggle  with  the  flesh 
Tyrannous   with   th'   unbrooked   sovereignty  of 

years. 
And  lean  and  hollow-eyed  he  waned  ghost-like, 
Wrestling  against  the  might  of  evil  habit 
Grown  stronger  year  by  year  as  saplings  grow 
Ring  by  ring  into  the  stubborn  oak. 
And  beaten  down  a  many  times  he  rose 
Again  by  strenght  of  prayer  and  penitence, 
And  slowly  waxed  in  spiritual  power. 
Oft-times  when  heaven  stood  at  middle  night, 
And  all  the  world  was  laid  in  sleep,  there  came 
Upon  him  half  awake  and  half  adream. 
Soft  phantoms  wooing  him  with  sensuous  breath 
To  break  his  steadfast  will  and  drag  him  down. 
Anon  Queen  Guinevere  bent  over  him 
And  swept  his  lips  with  velvet  touch  of  hers, 
135 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Or  Vivien,  her  almond  eyes  half  veiled, 
From  under  drooping  lids  shot  languorous  light- 
nings; 
Or  Queen  Iseult  tossing  resplendent  arms. 
Her  raven  tresses  streaming  down  about 
The  snowy  drifts  of  gleaming  shoulders,  beckoned 
And  called  with  amorous  parted  Hps  breathing 
The  heavy  sweetness  of  the  ripened  rose; 
And  Launcelot  starting  up  and  crying  out 
Beat  Against  the  hollow  air  with  frantic  hands. 
And  heard,  or  seemed  to  hear,  a  mocking  laughter 
Drifting  away  into  the  outer  night 
With  muttered  imprecations  echoing  back: 
And  on  him  stood  great  drops  of  agony. 
Lest  yielding,  e'en  in  thought,  he  fall  again 
Into  the  noisome  pit,  whence  he  had  toiled 
To  purer  heights.    And  seizing  on  the  scourge 
That  ever  lay  beside  his  hand,  he  smote 
The  recreant  flesh  and  beat  the  lusting  down, 
And  fell  to  prayer;  till  morning  creeping  up 
The  murmuring  east  noosed  all  the  hills  with  light. 
And  wold  and  dale  and  all  the  shadowed  woods 
Silvered  with  benediction  of  the  dawn; 
And  Launcelot,  overwearied,  kneeling  slept. 
And  dreamed  no  more.    And  so  at  last  he  quelled 
The  flesh,  and  made  it  subject  to  his  will, 
As  docile  as  his  knightly  charger  once 
136 


The  DEATH  of  SIR  LAUNCELOT 

To  voice  and  rein  in  joust  or  roaring  war. 
Thus  broken  was  the  power  of  hell  to  weave 
Foul  phantasies  before  his  dreaming  brain, 
Wrought  from  the  sensuous  vapours  of  the  past, 
Like  lingering  mists  above  a  dark  morass. 
Until  the  sharp  pure  air  of  heaven  blow 
And  drive  the  fetid  shades  away,  and  down 
From  crystal  spaces  shine  the  steadfast  stars. 

But  one  sole  victory  gaineth  not  the  walls 
Of  Heaven,  where  battlemented  gleams  afar 
The  City  of  the  Saints  ruby  with  love. 
And  Launcelot  longing  for  that  distant  glory, 
As  keenly  as  of  old  for  human  fame. 
Strove  mightily  in  prayerful  contemplation 
To  win  the  flashing  splendour  of  the  height. 

But  God,  lest  he  should  lean  upon  himself 
Forgetful  that  the  soul  is  tempered  true 
Only  within  humility's  black  forge 
Under  the  hammer  of  adversity, 
As  ruddy  iron  under  the  smith's  swift  blows, 
Withdrew  Himself,  and  left  him  desolate. 
And  Melancholy  breathed  her  heavy  night 
Upon  his  soul,  and  leaden  weighed  him  down 
To  an  abysmal  darkness  void  and  stern: 
And  calling  out  in  agony  his  voice 
137 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Went  from  him  echoless,  and  silence  pierced 
Him  through  and  through  like  sword  of  ice  numb- 
ing 
His  speech  and  freezing  all  his  powers  of  thought, 
Save  only  the  black  memory  of  his  sins, 
That  ever  rose  a  creeping  tide  of  foulness 
To  whelm  him  under;  and  isolation  spread. 
Deathlike,  without  the  blessedness  of  death, 
Innumerable  spaces  round  about, 
Until  the  universe  seemed  blotted  out 
Of  time  and  place,  and  he,  sole  being  plunged 
In  nothingness,  shuddering  in  the  void 
Ravened  by  utter  emptiness  of  self. 
Then  sudden  seemed  he  snatched  and  lifted  up 
Within  the  grasping  of  some  mighty  palm, 
And  set  down  in  a  sohtary  waste 
Of  blackened  sand  and  rock  blasted  of  eld 
By  primal  fires;  and  poured  out  like  a  pool 
Of  leaden  waters  lay  his  sluggish  soul 
Within  a  hollow  of  the  barren  plain. 
So  dun  no  star  thereon  could  find  its  shadow, 
Though   all    the    heavens   blazed    with    arrowy 

lights. 
A  voiceless  shade  upon  its  banks  he  stood 
Gazing  with  fearful  eyes,  that  could  not  weep, 
Upon  the  heavy  surface  of  the  pool. 
That  slowly  stirred  with  sluggish  undulations 
138 


The  DEATH  o/SIR  LAUNCELOT 

Oozing  and  bubbling  up  from  slimy  depths; 
And  therein  creeping  creatures  foul  with  mire 
Rose  writhing  twisted  in  a  hundred  knots, 
Uncoiling  serpent  shapes  that  coiled  again, 
Flickering  malignant  tongues  and  hissing  hate. 
And  from  the  distant  gloom  of  circling  sands 
Came  hollow  laughter,  pealing  mockingly. 
And  gibing  voices  shrilling  as  to  say: 
"Behold    thyself,    that    thinkest    to    take    high 

heaven!" 
And  'twixt  the  wriggling  horror  of  the  pool 
And  those  shrill  voices  seemed  he  plunged  in  hell, 
Cast  out  of  Love  and  doomed  of  God  forever. 
Nor  could  his  tongue  find  utterance,  nor  prayer 
Wing  upward  from  his  heart  in  utter  shame 
Of  his  unworthiness,  seeing  his  soul 
Spilled  out  in  all  the  foulness  of  his  sins. 
And  so  he  seemed  to  stand  eternally, 
Helpless  and  hopeless,  scorned  of  Heaven  and 

Hell. 
Then  sudden  on  the  far  horizon  shone 
A  little  light  that  grew  resplendent  coming. 
And  growing  flung  lances  of  fire  across 
The  sands  scattering  the  shadows  of  the  waste. 
Till  all  the  pool  was  silvered  into  white; 
And  looking,  he  beheld  it  crystal  pure! 
And  all  the  air  glowed  red  with  crimson  flame, 
139 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

That  wrapped  him  close  and  ravished  him  with 

sweetness; 
While  round  him  swept  the  radiance  of  a  host 
Charging  as  from  a  leaguered  city's  walls 
To  rescue  of  a  fallen  knight  begirt 
By  hurtling  foes;  and  in  the  crystal  pool 
Behold  —  its  gleaming  towers  and  turrets  mir- 
rored — 
The  city  of  God  rose-red!    And  all  its  walls 
Were   thronged   with   aureoled   saints   shouting 

Hosannas, 
And  waving  golden  palms;  and  parapet 
And  base,  and  all  the  glowing  space  between, 
Builded  of  serried  ranks  angelical, 
Arm  linking  arm  and  wing  enfolding  wing. 
Breathed  harmonies  of  blended  canticles 
Flaming  like  fountained  fire,  that  spouted  forth 
Rivers  of  rushing  melody  flooding 
Swift  light  leaping  in  seas  of  glory. 
Till  height  responsive  unto  height  trembled 
With  song  of  all  the  Sons  of  God  crying, 
''Behold  the  Love  that  conquereth  forever!" 

And  Launcelot  by  that  splendour  pierced  and 

rapt. 
Was  hfted  from  the  night  of  desolation, 
And  made  to  shine  in  spiritual  glory 
140 


The  DEATH  o/SIR  LAUNCELOT 

Upon  the  heights  of  holiness,  and  knew 
His  mighty  sin  forgiven  and  Heaven  won 
By  utter  gift  of  God,  who  casteth  down 
And  lifteth  up  out  of  pure  love  to  win 
His  creature  to  Himself. 

And  ever  after 
The  vision  of  the  City  of  the  Saints 
Abode  within  him,  shining  in  his  eyes 
With  holy  flame  and  lighting  all  his  face 
With  love,  till  they  that  looked  upon  him,  mar- 
velled. 
And  as  a  music  playing  was  his  presence, 
Making  glad  harmonies  with  all  about. 
Till  savage  beasts  ate  gently  from  his  hand. 
And  birds  came  fluttering  round  him  lovingly; 
And  when  he  passed  the  rose  flamed  deeper  red, 
Unfolding  all  her  heart  and  breathing  out 
A  richer  perfume  to  the  joyous  air; 
So  great  was  love  within  him  shining  forth. 

And  when  Sir  Bors,  and  others  after  him, 
Came  seeking  Launcelot,  finding  him  a  monk 
They  marvelled  greatly  seeing  him  so  changed. 
But  by  the  deathless  fire  allured,  that  burned 
Celestial  beacons  in  his  eyes,  and  held 
By  music  of  his  voice  that  seemed  attuned 
141 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

To  heavenly  choirs,  they  would  not  forth  again 
Into  the  discord  of  the  world :  and  won 
Through  Launcelot  to  the  love  of  higher  things, 
Abode  with  him  and  took  the  ashen  garb 
Of  penitence;  and  following  Christ  alone 
Strove  ever  for  the  perfect  Hfe;  and  so 
There  gathered  round  him  seven  knights,  who  erst 
Had  followed  him  and  worshipped  him;  and  now 
They  followed  him  no  less,  but  worshipped  God 
Alone,  by  his  ensample  drawn  and  led. 

And  now  the  seventh  year  in  heaven's  orb 

Had  wheeled  its  round,  since  Launcelot  sought 

the  perfect  life; 
And  it  was  close  upon  the  Easter  hour. 
When  earth  had  cast  her  winter  weeds  aside, 
And  baring  all  her  breast  to  wooing  suns, 
Felt  slender  flutterings  of  the  baby  spring 
Stirring  within  her  quickened  zone,  while  field 
And  forest  prescient  of  the  coming  hour, 
Grew  tender  with  the  creeping  sap  tinging 
The  melting  wold  with  hesitating  green. 
And  softening  all  the  boughs  with  timid  buds. 
And  Launcelot  granted  by  Heaven  to  know  his 

hour. 
That  he  should  pass  at  Easter-tide,  calling 
His  seven  brethren,  spake  in  ghostly  words 
142 


The  DEATH  o/SIR  LAUNCELOT 

Clothed  with  the  sad  authority  of  death: 

^'Now  ye  who  love  me  in  the  love  of  Christ, 

Hearken  my  words,  who  am  about  to  die; 

For  keen  was  I  for  earthly  fame,  loving 

The  incense  glory  from  the  lips  of  men, 

Not  knowing  then  the  higher  life  in  God, 

Nor  seeking  Him,  but  serving  mine  own  honour, 

Encrowned  by  pride  upon  a  throne  of  sand. 

And  lusting  in  the  flesh  I  lived  my  life 

Besottedly,  and  God's  high  purpose  turned 

To  basest  use,  making  of  human  love  — 

Whence  flowers  our  kind  upon  the  stalk  of  time 

For  God's  own  plucking  in  eternal  life  — 

A  sink  of  passion  and  a  pit  of  death. 

And  sinning  in  the  flesh  with  one  that  stood 

Upon  the  pinnacle  of  mortal  greatness. 

Made  sin  a  brazen  trumpet  to  the  world. 

Till  others  from  our  scandal  drawing  license 

Sinned  also,  blindly  deeming  that  light  fault, 

Whose  foulness  borrowed  lustre  from  high  names. 

And  so  the  sins  of  many  burdened  me 

Besides  mine   own,   and   weighed  me   down  in 

shame. 
But  God,  who  willeth  not  the  sinner's  death. 
Is  mighty  in  His  Love,  whose  arm  is  mercy 
And  reacheth  out  to  snatch  us  from  the  hell 
Our  sin  has  made,  if  we  but  will  to  come. 
143 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

And  I  that  hung  upon  the  trembling  brink, 
Was  plucked  from  those  eternal  gulfs  of  loss 
By  power  of  Jesu's  blood  spilled  for  us  all; 
And  though  unworthy,  crjdng  out  was  heard. 
For  marvellous  the  grace  of  God;  and  none 
So  low,  but  he  may  rise  and  live  again. 
Putting  forth  buds  of  righteousness  by  heat 
Of  that  high  Love  faUing  upon  the  seeds 
Of  penance  sown  within  the  furrowed  fields 
Of  humbleness;  for  pride  resisteth  grace. 
And  they  that  will  not  are  as  barren  rock. 
Wherefore  in  me  see  God's  great  miracle 
Of  Jesu's  love  triumphant  over  sin; 
For  none  was  greater  sinner  in  the  flesh 
Than  I,  whose  sin  was  more  than  lust,  seeing 
It  grew  to  be  the  scandal  of  the  realm. 
And  sapped  the  props  of  Arthur's  house  to  ruin. 
But  God  encompasseth  the  wickedness 
Of  men,  and  though  we  break  His  ordinance. 
And  send   sin's   discord  through  the  groaning 

world. 
And  see  no  healing  of  the  hurt  in  time, 
The  arms  of  love  eternally  uphold. 
And  Mercy  maketh  music  in  the  heavens, 
That  girdle  us  arround  with  harmonies 
Unheard  save  by  the  spiritual  ear 
Beyond  the  lagging  sense's  evidence. 
144 


The  DEATH  o/SIR  LAUNCELOT 

And  he  that  feareth  justice  findeth  mercy 

With   outstretched    arms  to  take  him   to   her 

bosom 
As  mothers  take  the  thirsting  babe  to  breast; 
But  he  that  scorneth  mercy  and  will  not, 
Within  the  hands  of  justice  shall  be  held 
Apart,  eternally  shut  out  from  Love 
Inviolate,  that  wooed  him  all  in  vain. 
Wherefore  that  all  who  knew  me  in  the  weeds 
Of  worldliness,  may  see  in  me  the  flower 
Of  mercy  burgeoning  by  Jesu's  love, 
I  pray  ye  bear  my  body  through  the  land. 
When  I  am  dead,  to  Joyous  Gard,  and  there 
Let  all  men  come  to  look  upon  my  face. 
That  seeing,  they  may  know  the  ways  of  God, 
And  in  the  knowing  some  amend  be  done 
For  my  great  sin.''    And  ceasing,  quiet  as  waters 
Flowing  from  shallows  into  deeps,  his  voice 
Grew  still,  and  o'er  his  face  death's  shadows  crept 
As  daylight  waning  ashens  into  night; 
And  breathing  deep  in  one  long-drawn  sigh. 
As  sleepers  breathe,  his  soul  went  gently  forth. 

And  kneeling  all  his  brethren  prayed  high  God, 
And  wept  for  love  of  him,  and  yet  withal 
Felt  gladness,  knowing  him  a  holy  man. 
And  how  he  longed  for  Heaven,  not  fearing  death. 
145 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Then  rising  up,  with  reverent  hands  they  placed 
Him  on  a  bier,  and  going  forth  took  road 
To  Joyous  Gard. 

And  it  was  Easter-tide, 
And  all  the  earth  had  quickened  into  flowers, 
And  all  the  air  was  redolent  of  May; 
And  cope  and  copse  rang  revelry  with  songs 
Of  feathered  joys  awaked  from  winter's  sleep 
By  new-born  suns  within  the  tender  blue 
Of  skies  Uquid  with  spring's  ethereal  breath. 
And  through  the  joyous  season  as  they  went 
The  gladness  of  the  world  lifted  their  hearts 
Thinking  upon  their  risen  Lord  and  death 
O'ercome  by  his  great  victory,  and  how 
The  man  they  bore  had  won  the  eternal  pearl. 
And  such  a  fragrance  from  him  came  as  seemed 
Death  had  no  part  in  him,  and  on  his  face 
A  light  as  from  a  lamp  of  holy  oils 
Burning  before  the  body  of  our  Lord. 
And  all  their  going  was  a  sweet  spring  tune, 
Swelhng  from  earth  and  air  and  blossomed  brake: 
Above  the  bier  carolled  the  wheeling  birds; 
The  little  creatures  in  the  grass  chorused 
A  soft  insistent  note,  and  in  the  fields 
The  grazing  kine  lifted  their  patient  heads, 
And  lowed  a  mellow  greeting  as  they  passed. 
146 


The  DEATH  o/SIR  LAUNCELOT 

From  thorpe  and  town  the  people  came  and  gazed 
At  them,  and  wondering  looked  upon  the  face 
Of  him  they  bore,  and  seeing  greatly  marvelled, 
And  followed  reverently:  so  when  they  came 
To  Joyous  Gard,  the  multitude  had  swelled 
Unto  a  host,  as  when  a  people  come 
In  homage  of  a  king.     And  in  the  quire 
They  laid  him  down,  that  all  might  come  and  see. 
And  noble  lords  and  ladies  came  and  saw. 
And  marvelled  thinking  on  the  grace  of  God. 
And  many  that  were  still  in  sin  were  changed, 
And  followed  Christ  thereafter.    And  lastly  came 
Sir  Ector,  Launcelot's  brother,  making  dole; 
But  when  he  saw  his  face  he  wept  no  more, 
And  straightway  casting  off  his  sword  and  helm, 
He  vowed  him  after  to  the  holy  life. 

And  now  twice  seven  days  Sir  Launcelot  lay 
On  loft,  and  all  the  people  came  and  saw, 
And  none  that  came  but  marvelled  seeing  him. 
And  all  the  whiles  his  seven  brethren  sang 
And  read  the  psalters  over  him  and  prayed, 
Their  voices  going  up  both  night  and  day 
Like  incense  from  a  golden  censer  swung. 
And  on  the  fortnight  came  the  Bishop  there, 
And  praying  sang  a  requiem  over  him. 
And  offered  up  the  Holy  Sacrifice 
147 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Of  Christ's  own  Blood  and  Body  for  his  soul; 
And  when  the  Sacred  Host  was  lifted  up, 
Blood  red  it  shone,  and  rosy  sparkles  flashed 
Through  all  the  quire,  and  sounds  of  voices  came 
From  far  off  like  a  mighty  host  rejoicing. 
Then  died  away  as  of  a  people  going 
Within  a  city's  gates;  and  fading  waned 
The  rosy  red  upon  the  chancel's  walls 
Like  evening's  purple  with  the  setting  sun. 


.  148 


AGLAE 

A    DRAMATIC    POEM 


PERSONS   OF  THE  DRAMA 

AglXe,  a  young  Roman  Matron. 
Boniface,  Steward  of  Aglde's  Estates. 
Cyprian,  a  Christian  Priest. 
Lavinia,  Maid  to  Aglde. 
A  Band  of  Christians. 


aglAe 

A  DRAMATIC   POEM 
SCENE    I 

Atrium  of  Aglde^s  house  in  Rome.  A  fountain 
playing  in  the  centre.  The  Lares  and  Penates  at 
the  entrance  on  either  side.  Present:  Aglde  and 
Lavinia.  Lavinia  weaving.  Aglde  seated  near  by 
in  a  disconsolate  attitude.  Time:  the  beginning  of 
the  fourth  century. 

LAVINIA 

Sweet  mistress,  thou  art  sad. 
aglXe 

'Tis  strange,  Lavinia: 
I  know  not  why,  but  all  my  soul  sinks  down 
With  sadness,  and  the  spirit's  airy  wings, 
That  once  stretched  Ughtly  in  the  irised  sun. 
Droop  drenched  and  draggled  now  with  constant 

tears! 
Why  am  I  sad,  when  all  else  seems  so  glad? 
151 


COLLECTED    POEMS 


LAVINIA 

'Tis  hard  sometimes  to  tell. 

aglXe 

It  seems  so  strange 
That  I,  whose  years  are  crescent  yet  with  youth, 
When  life  and  love  are  at  their  fullest  tide, 
Should  feel  as  one  whose  pulses  slow  old  age 
Has  laid  his  icy  fingers  on  and  chilled 
Their  ruddy  currents  into  sluggish  streams 
Creeping  through  frozen  channels. 

LAVINIA 

Perchance 
Thou'rt  ill  and  needst  the  doctor^s  care. 

aglXe 

'Tis  not  the  body's  ill  that  wounds  me  so, 
But  some  distemper  of  the  soul,  that  chills 
And  dulls  the  mirror  of  my  joy.     My  heart 
Is  bared  to  autumn's  melancholy  winds 
Complaining  of  lost  summer's  happiness; 
My  boughs   are  stripped  of  all  their  countless 

blooms. 
Whose  flame  once  took  the  enamored  air  with 

sweets, 

152 


AGLAE 


And  naked  of  their  leafy  loveliness 

Serve  but  to  catch  the  drooping  heaven's  tears 

And  weep  them  to  the  ground. 

LAVINIA 

Dear  Mistress,  this 
Is  only  shadow  of  a  little  cloud 
From  humors  of  thy  spirits  overtaxed 
With  happiness. 

aglAe 

Am  I  not  rich? 

LAVINIA 

In  Rome  none  richer. 

aglXe 

Am  I  not  loved? 

LAVINIA 

By  all,  dear  lady,  slave  and  freeman,  high 
And  low.     Kind  is  thy  heart  and  lavish  too. 

aglXe 
Withal  so  sad!  For  this  I  weep  the  more. 
The  largesses  of  fortune  mock  a  heart 
That  misery  holds  in  fee.     'Tis  now  a  month 
Since  this  strange  jailer  of  my  soul  has  stood 
Cold  sentinel  upon  my  joy.    Ah  me! 
Whence  comes  this  gruesome  witchery  to  filch 
My  happiness? 

153 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

LAVINIA 

Yes,  Mistress,  well  I  know; 
For  thou  wert  wont  to  brim  with  gayety. 

aglXe 
And  I  who  never  wept  before  now  feed 
On  constant  tears.     It  came  not  all  at  once 
But  rather  stole  upon  me  unawares, 
Stealthily  creeping  like  the  salty  sea 
With  bitter  flood  upon  the  sunny  shore 
Till  all  its  pleasantness  is  overwhelmed. 
And  I,  who  took  no  count  of  careless  time, 
Save  in  the  winged  calendar  of  joy. 
Now  drag  the  Ustless  days  as  slaves  their  chains 
Gyved  round  their  gallM  ancles.    Lavinia! 

LAVINIA 

Mistress! 

aglXe 
Rememberest  thou  that  strange  — 

LAVINIA 

Yes,  lady! 
That  strange  old  man  found  fainting  at  the  door 
By  Boniface? 

LAVINIA 

Oh,  yes,  quite  well. 
154 


AGLAE 


AGLAE 

Dost  thou  recall  the  man? 

LAVINIA 

Old  and  gaunt 
Feeble  and  worn,  a  beggar  — 

aglXe  (mth  a  gesture  of  impatience) 

No,  not  that 
So  much,  for  that  was  but  the  outward  man; 
But  in  his  eyes  despite  his  ragged  woe, 
A  deep  compelling  calm  serene  as  skies 
Whose  vaulted  blue  outspans  all  taint  of  cloud. 
His  aspect  venerable,  and  his  voice 
Weighted  with  quiet  authority,  that  seemed 
Rooted  in  wisdom;  strange  his  words;  of  things 
More  strange,  that  barbed  my  very  heart,  and 

waked 
Therein  a  fear  I  never  felt  before! 

LAVINIA 

Nay,  I  heeded  not  his  words,  dear  Mistress, 
Nor  understood! 

aglAe  {rising  and  much  agitated) 

Within  his  eyes  there  shone 
A  sovereignty  that  awed  the  quickened  soul, 
155 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Yet  merciful.     He  seemed  to  read  my  heart 
As  one  who  summons  to  a  secret  court 
A  culprit  to  be  judged  and  yet  to  be 
Forgiven.     Me,  a  Roman  matron  too, 
The  mistress  of  a  thousand  slaves,  whose  word 
Is  weight  of  life  and  death  upon  her  own, 
This  ragged  beggar  summoned  and  adjudged 
As  I  were  meanest  of  them  all! 

LAVINIA 

Why, 
Most  humble  was  his  mien  and  mild  his  speech ! 
I  heard  no  word  against  thy  nobleness; 
Thy  dignity  endured  no  smallest  hurt. 

aglXe 
Not  in  the  outward  marks  that  only  take 
The  eye,  the  manner  and  the  form  of  courtesy, 
Was  my  nobility  thus  made  ashamed; 
But  there,  where  is  the  proper  of  our  pride, 
Within  the  secret  chambers  of  the  soul, 
Was  I  brought  to  my  knees,  a  guilty  thing 
Not  all  condemned  but  somehow  hoping  still 
For  pardon! 

LAVINIA 

Strange  were  that,  indeed,  Mistress! 
How  could  a  Roman  matron's  great  nobility 
Be  criminal,  and  who  her  judge  but  Caesar? 
156 


AGLAE 


aglAe 

Thou  art  a  simple  child,  Lavinia.    Alas! 
So  too  thought  I  until  —  (weeping  violently) 
LAVINIA  {throwing  herself  at  Aglde's  feet) 

Weep  not,  sweet  Mistress! 
It  ill  becomes  the  summer  of  thine  eyes 
To  see  them  clouded  so. 

aglXe 

Ay  me!  mine  eyes 
Are  wells  of  grief  for  the  sad  heart's  salt  springs. 
Yet  in  this  weeping  is  a  bitter  ease 
That  softens,  though  it  lessen  not  this  woe. 
(Enter  Boniface) 

BONIFACE  (pausing  at  threshold) 

(Aside)  Aglde  weeping!    What  portent  in  her 

tears? 
(To  Aglde)  Lady,  I  wait  upon  thy  word. 

aglXe  (starting) 

Tis  thou, 
Boniface!    I  would  speak  with  thee.    Go, 
Lavinia,  child,  and  wait  my  further  bidding. 

(Exit  Lavinia) 
167 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

BONIFACE  (approaching  with  anxious  air) 

Thou  weep'st  Aglde!    My  spirits  take  the  chill 

Of  thy  dear  sorrow  as  the  mirror  dims 

With  sudden   breath.     Why   droop   thy   spirits 

so? 
Tell  me,  Aglde,  the  secret  of  this  grief, 
That  I  may  share  its  dolorous  tenderness. 
Or  else  with  careful  hand  may  lift  the  flower 
From  off  the  thorn  that  wounds  it  so? 

aglXe 

Ah,  me! 
How  may  I  tell!    I  feel,  but  scarcely  know. 

BONIFACE 

Thy  words  were  wont  to  be  a  very  song; 
Nor  all  the  feathered  music  of  the  groves 
Gave  out  more  gladness  to  the  ear. 

aglAe 

And  now 
Some  nameless  shadow  creeps  upon  my  soul 
And  silences  its  song.    Alas,  alas! 
I've  slipped  the  wonted  moorings  of  my  joy 
And  drift,  a  helmless  and  a  lonely  barque 
Into  the  widening  waste  of  landless  seas! 
158 


AGLAE 


BONIFACE 

Tis  but  a  passing  shadow;  some  effect 
Of  weariness,  that  weighs  thy  spirits  down. 

aglAe 
In  vain  I  seek  to  cast  the  burden  off. 
Pleasure  is  mockery,  and  shows  of  joy 
Are  only  gilded  robes,  all  lead  to  one 
Whose  heart  keeps  fast  with  hidden  misery. 

BONIFACE 

Whence  came  this  humor  first? 
aglAe 

Tis  hard  to  tell; 
It  came  as  winter  comes  in  autumn^s  breath, 
Gently  at  first,  preluding  deeper  wrong 
To  summer's  lustihood.    And  as  the  flower 
First  droops  with  keener  nights,  though  all  the 

days 
Be  warm  and  tender  still,  upon  me  fell 
The  frosts  that  nipped  the  spirit's  brighter  bloom, 
And  plucked  the  petals  from  the  stricken  stalk. 

BONIFACE 

But  is  no  record  of  the  hour,  no  touch 
In  memory  of  time  before  and  after 
To  mark  the  sunshine  from  the  night  that  glooms 
159 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Thy  skies  and  shrouds  the  image  of  the  stars? 
For  though  the  day  die  slowly  into  dark, 
Nor  fixed  the  instant  in  the  thickening  light 
When  we  may  say  'tis  now  the  night,  now  day 
Is  spent,  yet  well  we  know  the  rounded  hour 
Of  perfect  hght  from  utter  gloom. 

aglXe 

Perchance 
That  day  —  Dost  thou  remember,  Boniface, 
The  stranger  succored  by  thee  at  the  gate 
And  given  shelter?    He  was  old  and  worn, 
A  Christian  speaking  a  strange  doctrine. 

BONIFACE 

Yes, 
His  name  was  Cyprian. 

aglXb 

Then  first  in  all  my  days 
Was  I  rebuked  and  made  ashamed! 

BONIFACE 

By  Cyprian? 
aglXe 
By  him! 

BONIFACE 

Dared  he  upbraid  thee! 
160 


aglae 


aglXe 

Not  in  words  — 
Nay,  listen  —  thou  shalt  hear.     Within  his  eye 
There  dwelt  so  clear  a  light,  so  deep  a  calm, 
That  I  was  drawn  as  one  who  gazes  down 
Into  the  ocean's  depths,  and  sinks  and  sinks 
Helpless  from  deep  to  deep.    Then  suddenly 
The  lambent  shame  rushed  flaming  to  my  brow 
In  presence  of  his  soul,  that  held  mine  own 
In  that  abyss  where  thought  is  tongueless  speech, 
Whiles  all  my  guilt  stood  naked  and  ashamed 
Before  his  questing  eyes,  that  pitied  me! 
He  read  my  heart,  0  Boniface,  and  saw 
The  guilty  image  of  our  love;  and  yet 
He  spake  no  word,  but  well  I  knew  he  knew! 

BONIFACE 

Twas  but  the  flaring  fancy's  painted  fear, 
A  little  grain  of  conscience  sputtering  up 
In  love's  bright  fire  to  burn  itself  away 
In  that  resplendent  flame  like  sudden  chaff. 
Why  conjure  phantoms  in  the  broad  bright  day 
And  sadden  with  pale  ghosts  the  laughing  hours. 
That  wheel  around  the  golden  sun  and  strew 
His  path  with  flowers?    We  hve  and  love;   what 
more 

161 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Is  given  in  this  narrow  house  of  time 

To  mortals?    Let  us  take  and  spare  not  —  Hold 

The  largess  of  the  gods.    All  else  is  folly. 

aglXe 
Thy  words  were  once  bright  fountains  to  my  joy 
And  bore  my  spirits  lightly  up.     But  now, 
Alas !  they  only  feed  my  tears.     'Tis  not 
I  love  thee  less,  0  Boniface,  but  I 
Would  love  thee  better.    Love  that  knows  its 

shame 
Is  broken  music  on  a  guilty  ear. 
This  knew  I  not  before,  but  now  I  know. 

BONIFACE 

What  is  this  riddle? 

AGLAE 

None;  but  simple  truth. 

0  Boniface,  I  am  ashamed! 

BONIFACE 

AgMe! 

AGLAE 

1  am  all  misery.     I  weep  and  weep. 
And  wonder  at  the  ocean  of  my  tears! 

Some   ghastly   phantom   shakes   my   frightened 

heart, 
A  shadowy  presence  rather  felt  than  seen, 
162 


AGLAE 


Faint  syllablings  like  voices  in  far  dreams, 
Accusing  whisperings  that  say  no  word, 
Yet  somehow  speak  a  dreadful  thing! 

BONIFACE  (aside) 
Her  humor  blows  a  cold  and  heavy  wind, 
That  quite  congeals  my  nimbler  spirits.    How 
Distract  her  mood? 

aglXe 
Knowest  thou  of  Cyprian  aught? 

BONIFACE 

How  may  I  know?    A  beggar  at  the  gate 
He  came  unknown  and  like  a  beggar  gone. 
But  shake  thou  off  this  heaviness;  unfold 
The  crumpled  petals  of  thy  happiness 
To  brighter  suns,  and  let  them  drink  the  mists 
Of  melancholy  wept  by  tearful  night. 
Aglde,  come;  we'll  fill  the  hours  with  love 
Again,  and  in  the  crystal  floods  of  joy 
Drown  this  grim  melancholy. 

aglXe 

No;  'tis  not 
The  same.    My  love  is  heavy  with  strange  fears 
And  cannot  rise  upon  so  fragile  wings. 
Perchance,  if  I  might  speak  with  him  again. 
That  strange  old  man  — 
163 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

BONIFACE 

A  ragged  beggar! 

aglXe 
I  know,  and  yet  he  seemed  so  wonderful! 
He  was  as  though  some  greater  god  had  breathed 
Upon  his  soul  a  more  than  mortal  peace! 
What  are  these  Christians,  Boniface?    Knowest 
aught  about  them? 

BONIFACE 

'Tis  said  they  worship  a  dead  god, 
A  Jewish  malefactor  crucified 
By  his  own  people  long  ago.    Their  rites, 
I  hear,  are  horrible.    They  sacrifice 
A  living  babe,  whose  flesh  their  priests  consume 
Before  the  assembled  worshippers! 

aglXe 
Most  horrible  indeed,  and  yet  so  strange! 

BONIFACE 

A  dangerous,  bloody  and  malefic  sect. 
They  secretly  conspire  against  the  life 
Of  Caesar;  and  when  siezed  and  brought  before 
The  Praetor,  stubbornly  refuse  to  burn 
Incense  to  Caesar's  statue! 
164 


AGLAE 


aglXe 

Yet  Cyprian  seemed 
Not  so.     Gracious  and  mild  his  mien.     He  spoke 
Of  peace  and  love  to  all.     He  said  that  thou, 
Whose  kindness  succored  him  in  need,  would  gain 
Some  precious  great  reward;  for  Christ,  he  said, 
Loved  the  compassionate.     I  know  not  what 
He  meant,  but  in  his  words,  there  seemed  to  lurk 
Some  curious  hidden  sense,  like  a  dim  light 
That  makes  the  darkness  deeper. 

BONIFACE 

Thou  art  bewitched, 
Aglde!  This  strange  old  man  has  cast  some  spell 
Upon  thee,  some  strange  charm  brought  from  the 

East; 
For  I  have  heard  these  Christians  practise  magic. 
Their  Christ,  they  claim,  could  even  raise  the  dead. 
And  left  the  secret  of  his  power  to  them 
That  follow  him. 

aglXe 

Perchance  'tis  true,  and  yet 
I  cannot  think  of  Cyprian  working  ill 
To  me  or  other.     Love  so  clearly  spake 
From  eye  and  mien,  and  rang  in  every  word, 
165 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

That  malice  surely  could  not  mingle  bane 
With  such  fair  honesty! 

BONIFACE 

Rather,  Aglde, 
The  subtlest  poison  in  the  rarest  flowers 
And  in  the  precious  wine  the  deadhest  bane. 

aglXe 
I  know  not,  Boniface;  but  this  I  know, 
I  am  not  what  I  was.     I  love  thee  still, 
Yet  other  than  I  did.    And  all  my  soul 
Is  a  fierce  fire  whose  flame  leaps  ever  up 
Dying  into  the  empty  air  and  finds 
No  food  for  its  aspiring  tongue.    What  once 
Was  precious  to  my  heart  is  ashes  now 
In  that  consuming  heat;  and  I,  who  loved 
The  glittering  raiment  of  the  passing  hour. 
The  lissome  wantoness  of  clinging  robes. 
The  light  of  jewels  on  neck  and  hand  and  arm, 
The  careless  hour  of  feast  and  mirth,  the  wine 
That  flamed  the  cheek  to  roses  and  the  eye 
To  love's  own  splendors,  I,  who  loved  the  pomp 
Of  place,  the  pride  of  power,  the  luxury 
Of  wealth,  till  time  seemed  all  elysian  joy 
That  knew  no  end,  find  now  the  end  of  all. 
The  withered  chaplet  of  a  faded  feast, 
The  years  lie  blanched  within  my  trembling  hands. 
166 


AGLAE 


Save  only  love  of  thee,  O  Boniface, 
My  life  bears  now  nor  leaf  nor  bloom. 

BONIFACE 

Some  spell 
AgUe,  has  enmeshed  thy  spirits  quite; 
Some  foul,  unwholesome  incantation  throws 
Its  fetid  humors  thwart  thy  fancy's  eye. 
'Tis  most  unnatural  that  youth  and  wealth, 
Beauty  and  power,  the  very  roots  of  love 
And  happiness,  should  wither  in  the  sudden 
And  spread  their  branches  barren  to  the  sun. 
And  if  some  spell  has  bound  thy  spirits  up 
In  such  congealing  frost,  may  we  not  find 
Some  counter  charm  to  melt  the  opposing  bonds? 
I'll  seek  these  Christians  out,  and  find  a  magic 
To  loosen  all  the  winter  of  thy  woe, 
And  make  thee  smile  again. 

aglAe 

A  little  warmth 
Stirs  in  the  ashes  at  the  thought !  Hasten  — 
But  whither?    How? 

BONIFACE 

Most  easily,  I  think. 
The  Christians  here  in  Rome,  so  runs  the  rumor. 
Made  bold  by  Caesar's  rash  indulgence  brave 
The  open  day.     I'll  seek  them  out  and  learn 
167 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Some  way  to  wrest  the  secret  of  their  skill. 
I  know  one,  Mincius,  who,  'tis  said,  abjured 
The  superstition  once  before  the  Praetor. 
Gold  is  his  passion  and  will  buy  his  tongue. 
If  fear  or  other  thing  should  hold  his  speech. 

aglXe 
May  the  gods  assist!    Perchance  there's  hope  in 

this! 
Yet  am  I  all  divided  in  my  mind. 
And  in  the  feeble  heart  of  my  faint  hope 
Doubt  sinks  a  bitter  shaft. 

BONIFACE 

Then  pluck  it  out! 
And  give  thy  fledgling  chance  to  spread  his  wings! 
Ill  go  and  speed  with  Mercury's  nimble  feet 
Upon  thy  quest!    Nay,  smile  again,  Aglde;  see 
The  sunhght  on  yon  fountain's  silvery  shaft ! 
A  happy  augury!    Its  splendor  breaks 
And  dances  in  a  thousand  flying  lights 
About  us !    On  thy  hair  and  face  it  plays. 
Wooing    thy    beauty    with    amorous  daUiance. 

Smile, 
Aglde  —  now  thou  art  thyself  again! 
Olympus  would  be  brighter  for  thy  smile  — 
I  go  to  find  thy  happiness  again! 

{Exit  Boniface) 
168 


SCENE  II 

Three  months''  interim  between  first  and  second 
scene.  A  trium  of  A glde's  house  in  Rome.  Present: 
Aglde  and  Lavinia. 

aglXe  {holding  a  rose  in  her  hand) 
The  third  month  gone  to-day,  and  yet  no  word! 
Were  months  but  petals,  I'd  crush  them  as  this 

rose! 
How  time  does  rack  our  patience  on  his  wheel! 
What  can  delay  his  coming  back? 

LAVINIA 

Twas  far 
To  go,  dear  Mistress;  over  seas  and  mountains, 
A  rough  way;  Lucoe  told  me  so. 
For  from  Cilicia  came  she  as  a  child. 

aglXe 
She  said  'twas  very  far? 

LAVINIA 

Truly,  and  hard. 
A  long  and  tiresome  journey  over  sea. 
And  then  great  mountains  bar  the  toilsome  way. 
169 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

'Twas  many  weary  weeks,  she  said,  'twixt  Rome 
And  Tarsus. 

aglXe 
'Tis  very  hard  to  wait. 
Each  moment  is  a  weary  while,  each  hour 
A  lengthened  anguish,  and  each  day  so  brimmed 
To  overflowing  with  the  creeping  flood 
Of  endless  hours  to  make  the  stagnant  round, 
'Twould  seem  that  time  had  ceased  to  flow. 

LAVINIA 

Think 
Upon  the  journey's  length,  and  measure  time 
By  that.     Mountain  and  river,  sea  and  plain. 
Make  slow  toil  e'en  for  hastening  feet.    And  then 
The  thousand  various  haps  to  make  delay 
In  a  long  journey;  on  the  sea  the  wind 
May  fall  and  hold  the  eager  ship  becalmed. 
Or  blustering  storm  may  beat  it  baffled  back, 
Or  angry  torrents  drown  the  wonted  ford, 
Or  snow  upon  the  mountain  passes  — 

aglXe 

Yes, 
Too  many  far  the  petty  hindrances 
To  pile  delay  a  mountain  high.    To  think 
On  these  but  sharpens  appetite  for  haste. 
And  daily  whets  the  edge  of  grief  anew. 
170 


AGLAE 


This  weighing  all  the  hazards  only  adds 
Fresh  burdens  to  the  staggering  load  I  bear. 
I  conjure  fears  of  all  the  thousand  perils 
That  throng  the  hostile  way  and  frighten  hope. 
The  snows  of  patience  cannot  cool  a  heart 
Afire;  the  ardor  of  my  longing  melts 
Them  all! 

LAVINIA 

But  this  impatience  wears  thee  out. 
Thou'rt  grown  so  white  and  thin,  a  Hly  now 
Would  blush  beside  thy  cheek,  and  zephyrs  sway 
Thee  lightly  as  a  blade  of  faded  grass. 

AGLAE 

A  shadow  of  myself,  I  know.     How  soon 
The  body  melts  before  the  soul's  desire! 
How  lightly  are  we  made!    The  elements 
That  fashion  our  unstable  frames  are  soft 
And  feeble,  solving  'neath  the  touch  of  time 
The  ruder  hand  of  grief  or  fortune's  strokes 
Like  irised  vapours  in  a  biting  wind. 
I  care  not  now  as  once  I  cared. 

LAVINIA 

Alas! 
aglXe 
Nay,  sigh  not  so,  Lavinia.    My  woe 
Has  taught  me  this  —  one  precious  pearl  of  gain 
171 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

From  out  the  darkened  waters  of  my  grief  —  that 

joy 
Is  not  the  body's  gift,  nor  time  may  hold 
The  fee  of  happiness. 

LAVINIA 

But  that  is  hard 
To  understand;  where  then  may  be  our  joy? 

aglXe 

O  who  may  answer  that?    That  precious  wine 

Once  held  for  me  within  the  shallow  shard 

Of  time,  is  now  all  spilled.    This  much  I  know, 

And  for  the  rest  I  only  hope,  blindly 

'Tis  true,  but  firmly;  why,  I  cannot  tell. 

But    something    whispers    me    from    out    my 

darkness. 
That  Boniface  will  bring  back  peace  and  love 
And  happiness. 

LAVINIA 

May  fortune  prosper  him. 
And  speed   him   quickly   home!     Yet  thinkest 

thou 
A  relic  from  a  Christian's  body  slain 
By  Caesar's  law  will  work  so  fair  a  spell? 
'Twould  seem  to  me  that  ill  would  come  of  ill. 
These  Christians  are  an  evil  people. 
172 


aglab 


aglAe 

Ah,  yes,  I  know! 
Yet  Cyprian  was  a  Christian,  and  he  seemed 
So  gentle,  kind.    And  Boniface  declared  — 
For  so  did  Mincius  tell  him, —  that  a  cloth 
Steeped  in  the  blood  of  one  who  died  for  Christ  — 
For  thus  they  speak  —  has  power  to  cure  the 

sick. 
The  lame,  the  bhnd  and  e'en  to  raise  the  dead 
To  life  again:   I  know  not  how,  but  Mincius  said 
That  he  had  seen  such  marvels  wrought! 

LAVINIA 

'Tis  strange 
To  think  on!    Theirs  must  be  a  potent  magic. 

aglAe 

Though  here  in  Rome  the  Christians  go  in  peace, 
'Tis  known  that  Caesar's  edict  in  the  East 
Pursues  the  obstinate,  and  many  yield 
Their  lives  for  Christ  their  God. 

LAVINIA 

What  fools!    To  think 
That  men  would  rather  yield  themselves  to  Hades 
Than  burn  a  pinch  of  incense  to  Caesar's  statue! 
173 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

aglXe 
Yet  gladly  do  they  die,  'tis  said,  and  meet 
The  dreadful  agony  with  smiles.    Who  knows 
The  secret  meaning  of  their  sacrifice? 
Who  welcome  death  so  happily,  as  'twere 
A  gift,  must  see  beyond  its  bloody  pale. 

LAVINIA 

But  'tis  unnatural  to  welcome  death, 
Save  as  rehef  from  hopeless  misery; 
And  when  to  five  is  still  a  joy,  then  death 
Is  horrible! 

aglXe 
I  know  not  what  to  think, 
And  yet  I  seem  to  half  divine  a  meaning. 

{Singing  in  the  distance.    Listening  they  hear  it, 
but  without  being  able  to  distinguish  the  words.) 

SONG 

The  martyr's  crown  is  his;  with  Christ 

Triumphant  now  he  reigns: 
Death  he  trampled  under  foot 
And  all  its  pains. 

aglXe 
He  would  not  yield  so  willingly  to  death 
Who  had  no  secret  stay  within  his  soul 
Against  the  pangs  of  nature's  dissolution. 
174 


AGLAE 


SONG  {approaching) 

Death  but  the  happy  gate  to  life 

From  out  this  vale  of  tears 
To  him  who,  lingering,  longs  for  Christ's 

Eternal  years. 

aglXe 
What  is  this  singing  in  the  street,  Lavinia? 

LAVINIA 

I'll  go  and  see  {Exit  Lavinia) 

aglXe 

"In  Christ's  eternal  years!" 
How  strange  the  words!    How  solemn,  yet  how 

glad 
The  burden  of  the  music.    What  may  it  be? 

SONG  {just  outside  the  house) 

Nor  craunching  rack  nor  flaming  brand 

His  steadfast  will  can  break; 
Sweet  is  the  body's  sacrifice 

For  Christ's  dear  sake. 

aglXe 

"  For  Christ's  dear  sake ! "    These  are  the  words  of 
Christians! 

175 


COLLECTED    POEMS 


SONG 

The  golden  palm  within  his  hand, 

The  sign  of  victory  won, 
He  sits  enthroned  among  the  saints. 

Clothed  with  the  sun. 

aglXe 
Who  sings  so  strangely  in  the  streets  of  Rome? 

(Enter  Lavinia.) 

LAVINIA 

Dear  lady,  there  wait  without  a  band  of  men 
All  garbed  in  white,  bearing  a  body  shrouded 
In  white  upon  a  bier,  and  with  them  Cyprian. 
Tis  they  who  sing. 

aglXe 

Cyprian! 

LAVINIA 

The  very  same. 
He  bade  me  tell  you  he  would  speak  with  you. 

aglAe 
Yes,  yes,  at  once!    Go,  bid  him  come! 

{Exit  Lavinia) 
Cyprian! 
How  faint  I  grow!    O  who  will  stay  me  now) 
This  I  have  longed  for  all  these  weary  months. 
And  now  I  fear  and  tremble! 
176 


AGLAE 


SONG 

O  sweet  the  agony  and  trial 

Sustained  by  love  so  great, 
Beyond  the  power  of  man's  weak  will 

And  low  estate. 

aglAe 
What  subtle  meaning  in  these  curious  words? 

SONG 

For  Christ  upon  his  own  pours  down 

His  all  enduring  grace, 
And  they  that  stand  his  witnesses 

Look  on  His  Face! 

O  sweet  beyond  all  sweets  to  die 
When  summoned  at  His  call 

Sweeter  than  life  to  die  for  him 
Who  died  for  all. 

aglXe 
"Who  died  for  all!"  How  strangely  do  I  hear! 

(Enter  Cyprian.) 
What  mean  these  solemn  words''  Who  died  for  all?  " 

CYPRIAN 

Christ  Jesus,  Lord  and  God. 
177 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

aglXe 

Cyprian! 

CYPRIAN 

Daughter. 
aglXe 
Thy  words  are  very  strange.    Thou  call'st  me 
daughter! 

CYPRIAN 

In  Christ  our  Lord  and  God,  who  died  for  all. 
His  priest  I  bear  His  word  of  hfe  to  them 
That  hear  me.    Peace  to  thee,  Daughter. 

aglAe 
Strangely  and  yet  not  strangely  do  I  hear. 
'Tis  Hke  the  piercing  of  a  broken  dream! 
Some  shadowy  prescience  taking  outward  shape, 
Yet  vague.    Speak,  Cyprian,  speak. 

CYPRIAN 

Daughter,  I  come 
From  Tarsus. 

aglAe 

Why,  'tis  thither  Boniface 
Journeyed!    Hast  news  of  him? 
178 


aglae 


CYPKIAN 

Yes,  Daughter,  truly. 

aglXe 
I  perish  for  it!    Speak  and  succor  me! 

CYPRIAN 

But  first  this  golden  prelude  to  the  tale: 

'Twill  pave  the  way  to  happier  things.    Listen! 

aglXe 
With  all  my  soul.    But  is  he  well? 

CYPRIAN 

Aye,  Daughter,  very  well. 

aglAe 

I'm  glad,  so  glad! 

CYPRIAN 

He  sends  thee  greeting,  and  he  bade  me  say 
The  charm  he  sought  is  found. 

aglXe 

E'en  now  I  feel 
Its  power.    I'm  glad,  so  very  glad! 

CYPRIAN 

A  charm 
Beyond  all  charms  to  heal  our  deadliest  ills. 
179 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

But  hear  my  tale,  whose  swift  unfolding  like 

The  flaming  of  the  dawn  upon  the  banks 

Of  night,  will  make  thy  darkness  light. 

When  Boniface's  pity  succored  me  some  months 

Agone,  and  thy  compassion  joined 

Made  gracious  healing  of  my  weakened  frame, 

I  prayed  to  Christ  our  Lord  and  God  who  died  for 

all, 
To  succor  thee  and  him  who  succored  me. 
His  servant  —  Nay,  I  know,  my  Daughter,  all — 
For  Boniface  confided  all  and  bade 
Me  speak  with  thee.     And  passing  hence  I  went 
Into  Cilicia,  where  the  flock  of  Christ 
Is  harried  by  the  wolves,  to  comfort  them 
Whom  Caesar  seeks  to  break  unto  his  will 
And  force  from  their  allegiance  to  their  Lord. 

AGLAE 

And  there  thou  saw'st  Boniface?    Why  comes 
He  not  himself?    What  holds  him? 

CYPRIAN 

Thou  shalt  hear. 
In  secret  I  administered  to  them 
Who  for  their  faith   in  Christ  were   seized  by 

Caesar; 
For  I  was  sent  for  this,  and  was  not  free 
180 


aglae 


To  court  the  blessedness  of  martyrdom, 

But  serve  the  others  in  their  need.     Each  day 

I  stood  unknown,  save  unto  them,  beside 

The  bloody  strand  and  saw  them  die  for  Christ 

Passing  unto  His  glory  crowned  saints! 

One  day  when  all  the  arena  smoked  with  blood, 

And  many  were  the  witnesses  to  Christ, 

A  glorious  holocaust,  I  saw  beside 

The  Praetor's  throne,  a  man  who  watched  the 

scene 
With   eager   eye.    He   paled   and   flushed   and 

trembled 
When  scourge  bit  bloodily  or  limb  was  wrenched 
Upon  the  creaking  rack  or  greedy  fire 
Devoured  the  tender  flesh.    But  most  of  all 
Upon  his  countenance  sat  wonder  throned 
To  see  the  smiling  fortitude  of  those 
That  thus  so  valiantly  attested  Christ; 
For  these,  as  feasters  ever  welcoming 
The  daintier  bits  to  whet  their  appetites 
For  more,  with  constant  joy  embraced  the  pain 
That  ever  brought  them  nearer  unto  Christ 
In  suffering. 

aglXe 

So  have  I  heard  they  die 
Whose  god  is  Christ.    But  what  of  Boniface? 
Why  comes  he  not  as  thou  hast  come? 
181 


COLLECTED    POEMS 


CYPRIAN 

Be  not 
Impatient,  Daughter;  thou  shalt  know;  for  so 
He  bade  me  speak  as  preface  to  his  coming. 
That  day  a  maiden  stood  before  the  Praetor, 
A  tender  child,  a  virgin  in  her  bud. 
Slender  and  frail,  lustrous  with  innocence. 
That  she  served  Christ  her  only  crime,  but  that 
Enough.     Her  angered  judge,  that  one  so  young 
And  simple  yielded  nothing  to  his  frown 
And  braved  the  utmost  vengeance  of  his  threats, 
Ordered  her  stripped  before  the  vulgar  throng, 
That  shame  of  its  bold   gaze  might  strike  its 

terror 
Unto  her  virgin  heart  and  bend  her  to  his  will. 
Forthwith  the  rude,  impetuous,  ribald  hands 
Of  jesting  soldiers  rent  her  garments  from  her, 
And  as  they  stripped  her  of  her  raiment,  lo! 
As  'twere  by  unseen  hands  unloosed 
Her  coiled  abundant  locks  slid  down  about  her 
Pouring  their  sheltering  lustre  to  her  feet; 
Nor  any  eye  in  all  that  gaping  crowd 
Raped  e'en  a  glimpse  of  her  fair  innocence. 

aglXe 

Did  not  that  melt  the  astonished  Praetor's  heart? 
182 


AGLAE 


CYPRIAN 

Nay,  flint  struck  harder,  flashes  angrier. 
Enraged  at  thwarting  of  his  vile  intent, 
He  ordered  them  to  brand  her  slender  breasts 
With  irons  thrice  heated  in  the  bellowsed  flame, 
But  when  the  glowing  metal  white-hot  touched 
The  whiter  coolness  of  her  virgin  flesh 
It  paled  to  greyness,  nor  so  much  as  seared 
The  tender  skin.    Whereat  the  Praetor  wroth 
To  fiercer  madness,  and  now  a  panting  beast 
With  jaws  outstretched,  balked  of  his  prey. 
Shrieked  out  to  place  her  on  the  dreadful  wheel 
And  tear  her  limb  from  limb.     And  so  they  seized 
And  stretched  her  fragile  frame,  hand  bound  ad- 
verse 
To  hand  and  foot  to  foot,  her  innocence 
Still  clothed  in  the  bright  wonder  of  her  locks, 
Upon  the  ponderous  machine;  but  at 
The  lever's  turn  it  cracked  like  brittle  glass. 
And  she  unbruised,  unscathed,  rose  up  and  cried, 
''Seek  not  my  life  save  by  the  sword,  for  so 
My  Lord  and  Spouse,  who  is  in  Heaven,  ordains." 
And  kneeling  bent  and  bowed  her  slender  neck; 
Whereat  a  soldier  lifted  up  his  sword 
And  smote,  and  so  she  yielded  up  her  soul 
And  passed  a  glorious  witness  to  her  Lord! 
183 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

aglAe 

0  tender  child!  0  sweetest  innocence! 

CTPRIAN 

At  this  the  stranger  by  the  Praetor's  throne 
Leaped  forward,  Hfting  up  his  hands  to  Heaven, 
And  cried,  ^'O  Christ  accept  me!    I  believe! 

1  am  a  Christian;  Christ  alone  is  God!" 
Then  scourge  and  fire  they  pitilessly  plied 
To  shake  his  constancy  that  stood  unshaken 
Against  the  fearful  torture,  till  the  day 
Sank  wearied  into  night  more  merciful. 

And  that  same  night  through  one  a  Christian 

guard. 
Admitted  to  the  prison  secretly 
I  ministered  the  holy  rites  to  him. 
The  second  day  therefrom,  they  brought  him  forth 
Again  before  the  Praetor,  but  he  stood 
Rooted  in  fortitude  against  the  storms 
Of  their  balked  wrath.     The  fire  that  ate  his  flesh 
He  smiled  at;  pain  he  welcomed  joyously; 
The  rack  that  seemed  to  wrench  his  Hmbs  asunder 
He  eagerly  embraced,  though  thrice  he  swooned. 
When  broken  nature's  powers  ebbed  out  exhausted ; 
Yet  smiled  and  welcomed  that  great  agony 
Again,  as  life  flowed  back  to  consciousness; 
184 


aglAE 


Till  baffled  by  this  Christian  constancy, 

The  Praetor  wearied  out,  commanded  them 

To  slay  him  with  the  sword.    Then  with  great  joy, 

That  made  a  glory  all  about  his  face. 

He  bowed  his  head  and  yielded  up  his  soul, 

And  passed,  a  glorious  witness  to  his  Lord. 

The  holy  body  of  this  saint  I  bring 

From  Tarsus  —  for  so  did  Boniface  request  — 

And  this  the  Christian  charm  to  heal  thine  ill. 

{To  those  outside.) 

Bring  in  the  sacred  burden.     Its  touch  shall  make 

Thee  whole  again. 

SONG 

O  sweet  beyond  all  sweets  to  die 

When  summoned  at  His  call. 
Sweeter  than  hfe  to  die  for  him 
Who  died  for  all. 
(Christians  enter  hearing  martyr's  body;    place 
bier  down  and  retire  to  the  rear.) 

CYPRIAN 

Come,  Daughter,  lift  the  cloth  that  yet  conceals 
The  holy  face  of  one  who  died  for  Christ, 
And  gazing  on  this  blessed  countenance 
Thou  shalt  be  healed  forever! 

(Aglde  approaches  and  places  her  hand  upon  the 
bier.) 

185 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

AGLAE 

Some  strange  unknown  virtue  steals  upon  my 
senses ! 

0  Christian  priest,  beseech  thy  God  for  me! 

1  fear  and  yet  rejoice!    My  soul  is  shaken! 
I  fear!    I  tremble! 

CYPRIAN 

Fear  not,  Daughter,  but  lift 
The  cloth  with  reverence. 

AGLAE 

{Lifting  the  cloth)    Boniface! 

CYPRIAN 

Tis  thus  he  greets  thee  Aglde  in  the  love  of 
Christ! 

AGLXfi 

(Falling  on  her  knees.) 

0  Christ,  accept  me!    I  believe! 


186 


THE  FEAST  OF  THALARCHUS 


PERSONS 

Thalarchus,  citizen  of  Antioch. 

Simeon,  the  Stylite. 

Thais,  an  hetcera. 

Xenares,  slave  of  Thalarchus. 

Antiphon, 

Critias, 

Charmides, 

Glauco, 

Hermogenes,  . 


guests  at  the  Feast. 


Demons,  Fauns,  Dryads,  Naiads,  Silenus,  Pan, 
Bacchus  and  Bacchanals. 

PlacCf  Antioch.     Time,  first  half  of  fifth  century. 


THE  FEAST  OF  THALARCHUS 

Enter  Thalarchus  and  Xenares. 

THALARCHUS 

Is  all  prepared,  Xenares? 

XENARES 

Ay,  my  lord. 

THALARCHUS 

The  guests  all  summoned? 

XENARES 

As  thou  didst  bid,  'tis  done. 


And  Thais,  too? 


THALARCHUS 
XENARES 

My  lord,  she  waits  thee  now. 


THALARCHUS 

Now  Antioch  shall  boast  a  feast  to  make 
The  gorgeous  riot  of  Nero's  groaning  board 
A  peasant's  fare  in  meanness.    Ay,  the  gods 
Themselves,  if  ancient  legends  speak  the  truth, 
189 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Shall  look  with  jealous  eye  from  their  high  seats 
Upon  its  splendid  prodigality. 
For  I  have  summoned  earth  and  sea  and  air 
To  yield  me  of  their  choicest;  wines  than  gold 
More  precious,  tanged  with  a  hundred  fiery  suns 
To  make  the  blood  run  wanton  in  the  veins; 
The  rarest  fish  that  winnow  in  the  deep 
To  edge  with  novel  savour  palates  staled 
With  years  of  feasting;  daintiest  meats  unknown 
In  this  our  Antioch  before,  to  spur 
The  jaded  appetites  of  ancient  revellers; 
Succulent  dishes  dressed  by  so  rare  art 
That  sated  gluttons  shall  hunger  at  the  sight; 
Such  subtle  witcheries  for  eye  and  ear 
That  they  shall  swoon  with  giddy  surfeit; 
Beauty  so  prodigal  of  all  her  charms 
That  Venus  would  stale  upon  the  general  eye; 
Music  to  ravish  the  amazed  sense 
With  sweeter  melodies  than  Orpheus  blew 
In  Pluto's  ear  to  charm  his  wife  from  hell; 
Ay,  such  a  feast  as  eats  a  fortune  up 
At  one  swift  mouthful,  as  death  mortahty! 
'Tis  'gainst  stale  Fortune's  self  I  throw  the  die 
And  scorn  her,  having  basked  within  her  smile 
To  dull  satiety;  and,  scorning,  court 
The  oft-reputed  thunders  of  her  frown 
In  sheer  despite  of  her  long  blandishments. 
190 


The    FEAST    0/    THALARCHUS 

Let  go  what  will,  let  come  what  may,  I  fling 

Defiance  in  her  face!    Let  houses,  lands 

And  slaves  and  ships,  the  substance  of  my  all, 

Be  swallowed  in  this  prodigality. 

As  thunderous  earthquake  and  the  roaring  wave 

Engulf  a  prideful  city  by  the  sea. 

That  leaves  no  stone  to  mark  its  ancient  place. 

XENARES 

My  lord,  the  hour  approaches  for  the  feast. 
Wilt  robe? 

THALARCHUS 

Yea,  put  on  the  festal  garb, 
The  one  I  purchased  from  the  Damascene, 
The  rarest  tissue  of  the  patient  loom'. 
Spun  from  the  purest  wool  in  all  the  East, 
White  as  the  unearthed  snow  and  delicate 
As  petals  of  the  rose!    How  soft  and  light! 
Meet  for  the  limbs  of  the  Olympian  gods 
When  they  recline  at  their  ambrosial  feasts! 
How  elegant  in  its  simplicity! 
Unblemished  by  the  taint  of  broidery. 
Yet  richer  by  the  pureness  of  its  woof 
Than  were  it  gilded  inches  deep  in  gold 
And  seamed  with  all  the  pearls  of  gorgeous  Ind. 
Xenares,  bring  the  Memphian  jewel,  too, — 
Twill  fit  with  this  most  rich  simplicity, — 
191 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

A  single  stone  white  with  Promethean  flame 

Gathered  within  the  bosom  of  the  earth 

When  first  'twas  stolen  from  heaven,  and  angry 

Jove 
Ravened  the  firmament  with  sulphurous  bolts 
Against  the  callous  thief.     Hear  how  I  talk, 
Xenares,  babbUng  a  fable  of  the  gods, 
The  gruesome  memory  of  an  ancient  lie 
Spun  in  the  nurseries  of  the  world,  when  men 
As  yet  were  children.     So  my  humour  trips  — 
The  gem!    Hand  it  me.     Zeus,  how  it  burns! 
White  as  the  sun's  white  core,  yet  cold  as  death ! 
It  was  —  the  Jew  I  bought  it  of  so  said, 
The  l3dng  trafficker  —  a  sacred  stone, 
That  once  on  mother  Isis'  holy  breast 
Burned  'neath  the  veil,  when  men  yet  worshipt 
And  bowed  with  bated  breath  before  her  shrine. 
A  pretty  fable  this  of  mother  earth; 
The  gem  within  her  bosom  'neath  the  veil 
The  easy  symbol  of  the  unquarried  stone 
Within  the  darkness  of  the  uncaverned  soil, 
Ere  men,  awakened  to  the  lust  of  things. 
Had  bared  her  treasures  to  the  eyes  of  greed. 
Fables,  fables,  to  hide  the  shamefaced  truth 
And  gloze  the  ugliness  of  our  own  deeds. 
Lest  we  grow  frightened  at  our  naked  selves! 
How  prone  to  invent  and  hold  ourselves  excused, 
192 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

And  out  of  all  our  baser  part  erect 

Divinities!    I've  had  my  day  of  faith, 

And  hold  but  wraiths  of  wasted  dreams.     I've  run 

The  gamut  up  and  down  and  down  again, 

To  find  but  jangling  discords  at  the  close. 

Wealth  has  been  mine,  and  its  sure  offshoot,  power, 

To  make  men  pliant  to  my  sovereign  will 

And  servants  of  my  every  nod.    A  man, 

I've  sated  every  appetite;  a  god, 

I've  bent  my  little  world  to  every  whim; 

Yet  bankrupt  of  all  joy  I  end  at  last. 

Life  staled  and  shattered  like  a  rotted  gourd. 

Out  on  it  all!    I'll  woo  me  beggary  now, 

And  from  her  withered  womb  beget  the  babe, 

Content,  to  suckle  at  her  barren  breasts 

And  fatten  on  their  emptiness. 

'Tis  said  that  little  want  is  slender  care, 

And  lentils  feast  a  witless  appetite. 

XENARES 

My  lord,  the  guests  are  all  arrived  and  wait 
Upon  thy  coming. 

THALARCHUS 

Well,  I  come.    Place  thou 
The  chaplet  on  my  brow,  that  I  go  crowned, 
The  sovereign  of  a  feast  beyond  all  dreams. 
Ye  blushes  of  our  common  clay,  how  wonderful! 
193 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Ye  queenly  flowers,  the  garden's  royal  flame, 
That  burn  like  us  a  single  hour  and  fade 
To  lightest  ashes  blown  by  death  about 
The  careless  earth, —  how  sweet  and  beautiful! 
Ah  me,  how  pitiful  the  thing  called  life, 
This  tide  of  freshness  quenched  in  salty  death, 
Whose  famine  ever  grows  the  more  it  feeds, 
As  the  waste  sea  upon  the  pleasant  streams! 
Since  to  that  bitter  end  do  all  things  flow, 
Though  ne'er  so  strong  and  beautiful.    But  come, 
Let's  to  the  feast,  and  in  full  cups  deeper 
Than  memory  drown  this  bleak  philosophy. 

{Exeunt  Thalarchus  and  Xenares.) 
Hall  of  feast,  guests  reclining,  music  and  song  as 
Thalarchus  enters. 

To  the  feast,  to  the  feast  we  come; 
For  life  is  now  in  its  bloom; 

Full  flows  the  tide 

As  onward  we  glide, 

Forgetful  of  doom. 

Like  petals  that  fall  from  their  flowers, 
Time  scatters  his  rose-laden  hours. 

Ah,  only  too  brief 

Is  the  blush  of  the  leaf 

In  morning's  white  bowers! 
194 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

Then  gather  the  sweets  of  the  day; 
To-morrow  they'll  have  faded  away; 

Seize  the  swift  bloom, 

Ere  the  blight  of  the  tomb, 

And  live  while  we  may. 

Dread  are  the  Fates  to  the  fearful, 
Heavy  is  grief  to  the  tearful; 

But  sorrow  and  death 

And  the  grave's  fell  breath 

Are  mocked  by  the  cheerful. 

Ripe  is  the  grape  on  the  vine, 
Ruddy  the  blush  of  the  wine; 

The  ivy-crowned  god 

Shall  rule  with  his  nod 

The  revels  divine. 

Let  care  at  the  portal  await, 
An  exile  outside  of  the  gate: 

Bacchus  alone 

Shall  sit  on  the  throne. 

With  Venus  as  mate. 

What  heed  for  time  and  its  flowing, 
What  care  for  hfe  and  its  going! 
195 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Unreef  the  white  sail 

To  catch  the  full  gale 

Of  love's  winds  a-blowing! 

The  goblet  upfiU  to  the  brim, 
With  joy  aglow  to  the  rim: 

To  Venus  our  love 

With  a  snow-white  dove, 

To  Bacchus  a  hymn. 

As  gods  on  their  thrones  elate, 
We  reck  not  the  threads  of  fate; 

Time  is  our  slave, 

And  death  and  the  grave 

But  shadows  that  wait. 

Snatch  then  the  moment  that  goes 
Blown  full  with  life's  crimson  rose; 

To-morrow's  dim  morn 

Will  find  but  the  thorn 

And  thee  —  who  knows? 

CRITIAS 

Methinks  there  is  a  discord  in  the  song: 
'Tis  scarcely  meet  to  dwell  on  death  when  life 
Is  at  its  full.    And,  when  we  feast,  'tis  well 
To  think  on  nothing  but  the  feasting. 
196 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 


CHARMIDES 

True, 
Friend  Critias.     'Tis  an  unsavoury  sauce 
Wherewith  to  season  mirth;  I  like  it  not. 
To  be  reminded  death  is  at  the  door 
Cripples  an  eager  appetite. 

ANTIPHON 

Not  so; 
Ye  be  but  poor  philosophers.     Tis  this 
That  gives  the  zest  to  life,  to  know  it  ends. 
The  moiety  of  pleasure  is  pursuit, 
The  other  haK  the  climax  of  its  taste 
Subsiding  in  delicious  ecstasy 
Of  pain.    The  sweet  expectancy  that  fed 
Your  hope  before  this  feast  is  half  of  it; 
The  other  half  in  consummation  now, 
To  end  in  swift  satiety.    But  were 
The  Fates  to  fix  your  feasting  here  forever, 
The  wine  that  tingles  at  your  Ups  were  poison, 
The  viands  that  sweetly  savour  to  the  palate 
Would  grow  polluted  as  a  Harpies'  feast. 
And  ye  wane  thinner  than  Tartarian  shades 
Consumed  by  the  eternal  misery 
Of  sheer  monotony.    No,  friends,  be  wise; 
Treasure  the  hour  because  it  speeds;  hold  fast 
The  blossom  because  it  fades;  for  therein  lies 
197 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

The  essence  of  our  joy,  whose  little  power 

Grasps  but  the  moment  of  vicissitude, 

And  in  the  last  and  greatest  change, 

That  we  call  death,  sums  all  of  life,  and  makes 

It  bearable. 

CRITIAS 

By  Bacchus,  Antiphon, 
Thou  reasonest  well;  I'll  drink  the  deeper  for't. 

CHARMIDES 

No,  no,  he  argues  ill:  better  to  feast 
Forever  here,  recking  nor  change  nor  death, 
Nor  that  vast  emptiness  where  Hades  yawns 
For  unsubstantial  shades,  than  sour  the  wine 
By  thinking  on  the  lees  that  lie  at  bottom. 
Think  you  the  rose  is  sweeter  because  it  fades? 
Nay,  rather  were  its  sweetness  sweeter  still 
If  it  but  bloomed  in  immortality; 
Think  you  that  beauty's  beautiful  because 
It  wrinkles  into  ugliness  with  age? 
Is  Thais'  alabaster  throat  whiter 
Than  enskyed  snow  because  the  tawny  years 
Will  yellow  it?    Her  lips  aflame  with  love 
Because  the  envious  hours  will  pluck  their  blos- 
soms 
And  leave  them  pale  and  withered?    Nay,  Anti- 
phon, 

198 


The    FEAST    of   THALARCHUS 

Beauty's  her  own  essential  loveliness, 

And  our  delight  because  she  is  herself, 

Nor  borrows  aught  from  time's  revengeful  waste. 

Give  me  the  ripened  rose  because  it  blooms. 

The  hour  because  'tis  filled  with  present  sweets, 

And  Thais'  lips  redder  than  any  rose, 

Sweeter  and  dearer  than  Olympian  bliss, 

Because  their  luscious  pastures  are  abloom 

With  living  loves  ripe  now  for  gathering. 

And  all  sufficient  in  themselves  to  make 

This  single  hour  eternal.    Ay,  I'd  cram 

All  future  into  one  capacious  now, 

And  this  full  instant,  blown  radiant  as  the  sun 

With  joy,  fashion  to  immortality! 

CRITIAS 

Well  said,  Charmides:  come,  we'll  drink  to  it! 
Thy  argument  would  set  all  Antioch  dry! 
Ay,  were  the  circumambient  seas  all  wine. 
We'd  drain  them  clean,  and  make  old  Neptune 

ride 
On  land.    Come,  Ganymede,  fill  up  again! 

ANTIPHON 

Thou'rt  over-young:  thy  tongue  outruns  thy  wit. 

CRITIAS 

Thou'rt  over-old:  thy  wit  has  lost  its  sap. 
199 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

ANTIPHON 

And  thine  still  in  the  green.     Be  wise  and  learn 
Of  age,  which  yoked  with  long  experience 
Has  travelled  life's  close  orbit  o'er  and  o'er: 
First,  childhood's  giddy  cycle  swings  its  course, 
When  all  existence  is  the  moment's  toy. 
And,  stayed  within  its  sinuous  channel,  time 
Goes  eddying  round  and  round  with  bubbling 

wave. 
The  hours  perennial  vessels  of  delight 
Gushing  with  joy;    then  youth  with  passionate 

feet 
Pursuing  pleasure  to  the  close,  draining 
The  chalice  dry,  and  reaping  aftermaths 
Of  pain  in  flagging  nature's  ravished  powers; 
Youth    spent,    mid-age    awakening    from    the 

dream, 
Plucking  experience  from  the  thorny  vine 
Of  sorrow,  and  temperately  husbanding 
Its  joys  by  holding  passion  in  the  leash; 
Lastly,  old  age,  cautious  as  creeping  snails 
Feeling  the  way,  on  wisdom's  slow  staff  leans. 
With   prudence   for   its  guide,   and  treads  the 

path 
Of  pleasure  moderately,  knowing  the  pain 
Of  haste  and  ruin  of  excess. 
200 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 


CHARMIDES 

Thy  blood 
Is  thin,  and  wrinkled  as  the  cheek  of  eld 
Is  thy  philosophy,  O  Antiphon. 
Thou  preachest  for  thyself,  whose  narrow  stream 
Is  running  dry  in  parched  and  barren  sands! 
Go  spout  thy  platitudes  at  funerals. 
And  in  the  corpse's  stony  ear  discourse 
Upon  the  vanities  of  life.     Our  blood 
Is  red  with  lustihood,  our  years  fuller 
Than  Amalthea's  horn:  we  drink,  we  feast, 
We  die  not! 

CRITIAS 

Come,  sweet  Ganymede,  fill  up 
Again!    I'm  father  Bacchus'  own  to-night, 
Immortal  as  the  gods!    Fill  up,  I  say, 
And  drown  these  musty  arguments  in  wine. 
Here's  to  thee,  ancient  Antiphon!    Come,  drink! 
Warm  thine  old  blood  with  bacchanalian  fires; 
Ruby  the  ashes  of  thy  beard  with  wine. 
And  dream  thou'rt  young  again.    I'll  wager  now 
Thou'st  not  been  drunk  these  thirty  years ! 

ANTIPHON 

Fie,  boy! 
Thou'lt  feel  the  Furies'  lash  to-morrow  morn. 
201 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Thalarchus,  I  appeal  to  thee  —  holds  not 
My  argument  in  reason? 

THALARCHUS 

Sweet  friends, 
Let's  not  dispute  about  the  festal  board, 
But  all  here  move  to  music  and  to  joy- 
Concordant  as  the  chiming  heavens  sing 
In  loves  harmonious.     Upon  the  arch 
Of  time  enthroned  we  sit  as  gods  to-night! 
Let  not  to-morrow  stare  with  stony  face 
Upon  our  festival.     Olympians  all, 
We'll  make  the  old  Olympian  fable  true; 
Pleasure  and  beauty  by  our  side,  whilst  Love, 
Divinest  minister,  with  rosy  fingers 
Enweaves  his  flowery  chains  to  hold  us  all 
The  bonded  servants  of  his  amorous  nod. 
Thais,  O  lovelier  than  Aphrodite's  self 
Rising  resplendent  from  the  shimmering  waves 
Kissing  her  feet  and  worshipping,  sing  thou 
Of  love,  who  art  his  sovereign  mistress  now. 
Here,  boy,  the  chaplet  and  the  cithara. 

ANTIPHON 

How  Bacchus  blossoms  wanton  from  his  lips! 


202 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 


CRITIAS 

Sweet  Hebe,  sit  thee  with  me  while  she  sings, 
Thy  lip  and  mine  upon  the  crater's  rim, 
While  Venus  and  the  god  meet  in  the  cup. 
Hercle!  thou  art  as  lovely  as  Thais  there, 
Though  Aphrodite  envy  her!    Hebe 
And  Ganymede  art  thou  in  one,  sweeter 
Than  Hybla's  honey  — 

CHARMIDES 

Cease,  Thais  begins. 

THAIS  (singing) 

Swifter  than  fire 
Is  love's  desire. 

Sweeter  than  wine; 
Stronger  than  hate, 
Closer  than  fate 

Its  tendrils  entwine. 

Zeus'  grim  power 
Stays  not  its  soft  hour, 

Its  sweet,  sharp  pain; 
In  Danae's  tower 
Falls  the  hot  shower 

Of  golden  rain. 
203 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Love  is  a  rose 

That  flame-like  blows 

In  passion's  breast; 
Pluck  it  and  hold  it, 
Softly  enfold  it 

In  love's  own  nest. 

Thy  lips  are  red 

As  the  poppy's  head, 

Thy  breath  as  wine; 
Tender  thine  eyes 
As  midnight  skies 

With  stars  that  shine. 

Take  me  and  hold  me, 
Softly  enfold  me. 

My  lips  to  thine, 
As  love  with  desire. 
Passion  with  fire, 

And  vine  with  vine. 

THALARCHUS 

Thais,  thy  beauty  ravishes  the  eye, 
Thy  song  the  ear.     Captive  thou  tak'st  the  heart, 
And  lead'st  the  soul  in  gilded  chains  to  love! 
Venus  were  beggared  of  the  golden  prize. 
Were  Paris  here  to-night. 
204 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

THAIS 

And  lov'st  thou  me, 
Thalarchus? 

THALARCHUS 

Yea,  as  Bacchus  wine.  Mars  war, 
As  Jove  his  power,  and  Venus  lovers! 

THAIS 

Ah! 
Thou  lovest  as  I  would  be  loved.    Pledge  me 
As  Antony  his  Cleopatra, 
Staking  imperial  Rome;  and  I  will  plight 
As  Cleopatra  pledged  her  Antony, 
Throwing  the  priceless  pearl  within  the  cup. 
Till  its  dissolved  beauty  made  the  wine 
Precious  as  Egypt's  kingdom.     See!    I  fling 
This  pearl,  though  not  so  fair  as  Cleopatra's, — 
Oh,  would  'twere  fairer  by  a  kingdom's  worth ! — 
Into  the  ruby  flood,  and  pledge  our  loves 
In  its  quintuple  wealth;  though  this  be  poor 
Indeed  beside  the  largess  of  our  hearts. 
As  beggars'  mites  compared  to  Croesus'  gold. 

ANTIPHON 

The  very  pearl  himself  once  gave  her! 


205 


COLLECTED  POEMS 


THALARCHUS 

Nay, 
Fairest,  touch  but  the  wine  with  thy  rose  Hps, 
And  it  grows  nectar  fitter  for  gods  than  men, 
Richer  than  all  that  Cleopatra  ruled 
Or  Antony  e'er  flung  away.     I'll  pledge, 
Not  in  the  fragile  beauty  of  a  pearl, — 
Whose  lustre,  like  the  rainbow,  melts  away, 
With  heaven's  cloudy  tears,  before  the  sun, — 
But,  worthier  still,  in  the  eternal  fires 
Of  this  most  royal  gem,  that  gleamed  and  glowed 
Of  yore  on  Mother  Isis'  fecund  breast. 
And  now  from  thine  drawing  a  rosier  warmth, 
Shall  shed  diviner  radiance.     Thais,  to  thee, 
Empress  of  love,  fair  sovereign  of  our  hearts! 
Wear  thou  the  stone,  and  in  thy  beauty  'twill 

shine 
More  beautiful.    I'll  sing  to  thee  of  love. 

CHARMIDES 

The  stone's  a  treble  fortune! 

ANTIPHON 

Treble  that, 
Charmides!    Why,  'twould  buy  half  Antioch! 
How  she  did  wheedle  him!    His  juggled  wits 
Are  like  the  pearl  disported  in  the  wine. 
206 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

Occasion  ripe,  she  played  her  venture  well, 
And  staked  a  costly  hazard  on  the  die, 
To  win  most  preciously.    When  gain's  the  game, 
Bacchus  is  never  match  for  Venus. 

THALARCHUS  (singing) 

What  made  the  gods  more  fair  than  love? 
What  wrought  the  gods  more  rare  than  love? 

What  compare  to  love? 

Tell  me,  ye  who  love! 
Naught  in  the  sea  or  air,  O  Love, 
In  earth  or  there  above, 

0  Love,  my  Love! 

Sweeter  than  tang  of  wine,  0  Love, 
Brighter  than  gems  that  shine,  O  Love, 

Than  gold  more  fine,  O  Love, 

Softer  than  roses.  Love; 
The  gods  one  gift  divine,  0  Love, 
My  love  with  thine,  my  Dove, 

O  Love,  my  Love! 

THAIS 

Sweeter  than  Orpheus  fluted  in  mid-hell, 
Thy  song,  Thalarchus.     See,  upon  my  breast, 
The  roseate  gleam  of  mother  Isis'  stone. 
Thou  art  a  royal  lover. 

207 


COLLECTED    POEMS 


THALARCHUS 

Who  but  a  king 
May  fitly  woo  the  queen  of  love? 

CRITIAS 

Hebe, 
I'll  drink  with  thee  again;  sweet  Hebe  — 
Why,  Venus  were  a  hag  beside  thee  now! 
0  Bacchus  is  a  jolly  fellow!    Come, 
We'll  drink  to  him,  a  jolly  tipsy  god! 
Let's  sing  to  him,  let's  sing,  I  say! 

ANTIPHON 

Thou'lt  snore 
With  him  under  the  table,  Critias, 
Before  thou'lt  sing. 

CRITIAS 

Ay,  snore  with  him;  let's  snore 
With  him;  a  jolly  tipsy  god,  let's  snore 
With  him,  I  say!    Hebe,  I  drink  to  thee! 
A  jolly  tipsy  — 

(Critias  falls) 

ANTIPHON 

Under  the  table,  swine, 
At  last.    The  beast  in  man  is  most  of  him. 
Behold,  Charmides,  thy  philosophy, 
208 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

Under  the  table.     So  folly  clasps  excess 
About  the  neck,  and  both  together  drown. 
In  moderation  taste  the  dangerous  cup, 
And  therein  find  delight;  for  reason,  master, 
Holds  back  the  foaming  steeds  of  sense  rushing 
Headlong  and  bhnd  along  the  parlous  course, 
Keener  and  truer  for  the  checking  hand 
That  guides  them  straining  at  the  reins. 

CHARMIDES 

Old  owl, 
Hoot  thy  pragmatics  to  the  frosty  moon; 
Bathe  with  cold  Dian  in  her  icy  streams. 
And  nourish  thy  thin  blood  on  chiccory. 
But  we  live  in  the  lusty  sun,  our  hearts 
Aglow  with  all  the  blessing  of  the  god; 
'Tis  mother  Ceres  stores  them  in  the  grape. 
And  father  Bacchus  brews  them  in  the  wine. 
Here's  rich  Falernian  ripe  with  Italy's  tang, 
Encasked  these  many  years  in  the  cool  earth, 
Mellow  with  her  soft  days,  each  draught  a  dream 
Of  golden  happiness!    Fill,  fill  again 
And  drink!    Here's  to  Thalarchus  and  his  love! 
We're  gods  to-night  and  flout  the  troublous  world ! 

GLAUCO 

Hast  tasted  these  delicious  ortolans, 
Hermogenes?  and  these  flamingo  tongues? 
209 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

I  would  I  had  a  hundred  palates  now! 
Alas,  why  were  we  made  with  only  one! 

HERMOGENES 

Thou'rt  crammed  as  full  as  a  cock's  craw,  Glauco! 

GLAUCO 

Oh  that  I  had  a  craw  to  stow  away 
These  ortolans!    The  gods,  Hermogenes, 
Were  jealous  when  they  made  us,  else  why  made 
Our  small  capacities  all  single? 

HERMOGENES 

True, 
Yet  thou  canst  eat  again. 

GLAUCO 

But  when  again 
Wilt  find  such  feast  as  this!  such  ortolans, 
Such  mullets,  all  the  way  from  Mauritania! 
Such  lampreys,  luscious  with  ambrosial  sauce. 
As   though   the   gods   themselves   were  in   the 

kitchen! 
Such  tender  mushrooms,  sweeter  than  — 

HERMOGENES 

Such  wines! 
Thou  hast  forgot  the  wines! 
210 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 


GLAUCO 

No,  no!  drink  not 
Hermogenes,  before  or  when  thou  eat'st. 
'Tis  the  first  canon  of  the  feaster's  art; 
For  wine  thickens  the  nicer  taste  and  dulls 
The  quintessential  appetite,  that  sense, 
That  cultured  sense,  whose  fine  discernment  sifts 
The  subtler  flavours  of  the  food,  but  has 
No  lodgment  in  the  gross  and  vulgar  mouth. 
Then  after  thou  has  eat  repletedly, 
Drink  to  the  full,  and  in  the  vintage  drown 
Thy  woe,  that  thou  canst  eat  no  more. 


HERMOGENES 

Hercle! 
See,  Glauco,  Thais'  beauty  glows  revealed! 
Venus  Epistrophia,  thou  art  outdone! 

GLAUCO 

It  is  an  art,  Hermogenes,  that  few 
Attain.     In  eating,  men  are  mostly  beasts. 
That  nice  distinction  which  — 

{Enter  Bacchanalians.) 

HERMOGENES 

0  ravishment! 
Behold  Silenus  and  his  glittering  crew! 
Evoe!    Fauns  and  Nymphs,  Dryads  and  Naiads, 
211 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

With  lute  and  Father  Pan's  own  mellow  reed, 
With  clash  of  cymbal  and  with  beat  of  drum, 
With  ivy  wreath  and  verdant  myrtle  bough, 
With  tossing  arm  and  heaving  breast!    Evoe! 

GLAUCO 

Here,  boy!    That  dish  of  lampreys  I'll  essay 
Again.    And  put  that  mullet  by  my  side. 
Those  locusts,  too,  place  there.    As  I  was  saying, 
That  nice  discernment  art  alone  attains 
Is  won  by  long  — 

HERMOGENES 

lo!    Bacche!    Evoe! 
It  is  the  ivy-crown6d  god  himself. 
With  all  his  Bacchanals!    O  wondrous  sight! 
Thou  glittering  pageant,  feasting  the  eager  eye! 
Thou  golden  dream  of  fantasy,  I  leap 
For  joy!    Evoe!    Bacche!    lo!    lo! 

GLAUCO 

How  tinsel  catches  a  light  soul!    Hi,  boy! 
Bring  me  those  ortolans  Hermogenes 
Insultingly  forgets. 

HERMOGENES 

How  they  disport 
Themselves!    0  glorious  rout!    They  sing,  they 
dance, 

212 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS^ 

They  shout  and  leap  with  mirth  and  passion! 

See! 
The  Naiads  to  the  fountains  run!    The  Fauns 
Pursue  and  seize  the  yielding  nymphs!     Evoe! 

{First  Chorus  of  Bacchanals) 

lo!    Evan! 
Clash  the  cymbal! 
Crash  the  timbrel! 
Lash  the  drum! 
We  come!    We  come! 
lo!    Evan! 

Let  the  pipe  shrill 
Through  valley  and  hill! 
lo!    Evan! 

Silenus  and  Pan, 
In  the  wild  van, 

With  riot  and  song, 

Ten  thousand  strong! 
lo!    Evan! 

Bacchus,  inspire! 
We  breathe  with  thy  fire! 
lo!    Evan! 
213 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

He  who  would  stay  us 
Remember  Pentheus! 
lo!    Evan! 

Clash  the  cymbal! 
Crash  the  timbrel! 

Lash  the  drum! 

We  come!    We  come! 
lo!    Evan! 

{Second  Chorus  of  Bacchanals) 

lo!    Bacche!    lo! 
Twi-mothered  god, 
With  ivy-wreathed  rod! 

lo!    Bacche!    lo! 

Lord  of  the  vine, 
Life  of  the  wine, 
We  are  thine,  we  are  thine! 
We  run  and  we  dance, 
We  leap  and  we  prance, 
The  green  turf  on; 
White-footed  Naiad, 
Light-footed  Dryad, 
Goat-footed  Faun! 
We  turn  and  we  twirl. 
As  leaves  when  they  whirl, 
As  swift  waters  swirl 
214 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

In  the  eddy's  embrace; 
We  twist  and  we  spin, 
Wind  out  and  wind  in 

In  the  maze  of  the  race; 
We  crouch  and  we  spring, 
Our  arms  toss  and  fling; 
We  shout  and  we  sing 
To  Bacchus,  our  king! 

With  lips  wide  apart, 

With  swift  beating  heart. 
Wildly  we  chant. 
Heavy  we  pant, 
The  breath  coming  scant, 

As  we  leap  and  we  prance. 

Rush  back  and  advance, 
As  we  dance,  as  we  dance,  as  we  dance 
To  Bacchus,  our  king! 

THAIS 

Thalarchus,  thou  art  pale! 

CHARMIDES 

Critias,  awake! 
The  great  god  Bacchus  comes! 

ANTIPHON 

Nor  fire  nor  death 
Could  rouse  him  now:  his  wits  are  drowned  and 
sodden. 

215 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

A  DRYAD  (to  Antiphon) 
I  pluck  thy  beard,  Tithonus. 

CHARMIDES 

Pluck  it,  fair  nymph; 
Thou'lt  never  melt  his  snows;  he*s  iced  around 
With  cold  discretion  twenty  inches  thick. 

DRYAD 

I'll  be  Aurora  to  his  ancientness; 

I'll  sit  upon  his  knee  and  thaw  him  out. 

ANTIPHON 

Nay,  wanton,  scorch  Charmides  with  thy  flame; 
I'm  old  and  seasoned  now  these  sixty  years 
I  bear  the  buckler  of  experience 
Against  thy  shafts. 

THAIS 

Thalarchus,  art  thou  ill? 
Thy  hand  is  trembling,  and  thou  spill'st  the  wine. 

ANTIPHON  (to  Dryad) 
Away,  girl!    The  years  have  made  me  wise. 

CHARMIDES 

And  sourer  than  an  unripe  grape. 
216 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 


DRYAD 

No,  no! 
How  soft  the  silken  silver  of  thy  beard! 
Thy  beard  is  older  than  thy  face.    Bacche! 
But  thou'rt  not  old!    Thou  slanderest  thyself; 
Thy  skin's  as  soft  as  youth's,  thine  eye  as  clear. 

ANTIPHON 

Thou  flatt'r'st  me! 

DRYAD 

I  do  but  see  thee  close; 
Take  off  thy  beard,  and  thou'rt  as  young  as  any. 

ANTIPHON 

Now,  now!  dost  thou  say  truly! 

THAIS 

Speak  Thalarchus! 
Like  chiselled  marble  thou  dost  stand  and  stare! 

THALARCHUS 

Where  art  thou,  Thais?  Charmides!  Antiphon! 
Where  are  the  lights  that  made  our  banquet  blaze? 
How  dim,  how  chill,  like  breath  from  sepulchres, 
This  fetid  air! 

THAIS 

I  hold  thee  by  the  hand  — 
What  spell  is  on  him? 

217 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

ANTIPHON 

Tis  the  wine  that  mounts 
His  brain,  and  weaves  the  foolish  phantasy. 

THALARCHUS 

A  mirk  mist  rises  floating  up  as  o'er 
A  fen,  and  slowly  moves  and  curls  heavy 
And  dim,  yet  ghastly  with  a  bluish  light 
As  from  a  dying  moon  —  and  in  it,  see! 
A  shadow  like  a  giant's! 

THAIS 

I  see  naught. 
Save  feast  and  feasters,  a  round  of  mirth  and  joy, 
A  full  blown  rose  of  pleasure.     Come,  shake  off 
This  most  unnatural  and  deadly  humour,- 
This  cankerous  blight,  this  sick  unwholesome  dread 
That  nips  thy  valour  and  thy  wonted  charm, 
And  be  thy  gracious  self  again! 

THALARCHUS 

Hear'st  not 
The  rumble  of  vast  voices  gathering  far. 
Like  distant  thunder  in  the  womb  of  wrath! 

THAIS 

Naught  but  the  songs  of  revel  and  of  love, 
The  joyous  halloo  of  Bacchus  and  his  crew, 

218 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

The  cithern's  silver  cadence  and  the  lute's, 
Free  laughter  and  wild  dalliance-echoing  mirth. 

THALARCHUS 

Out  of  the  muggy  mist  issues  a  stench, 
As  from  a  thousand  rotting  carcasses. 
God!    How  it  sickens  the  revolted  sense! 

THAIS 

Nay!    'Tis  but  the  odor  of  the  rose 
That  makes  the  air  most  redolently  sweet; 
And  yonder  font  of  Araby's  perfumes, 
Plashing  and  sparkling  in  its  jewelled  bay, 
Casting  their  precious  scents  upon  the  breeze. 

THALARCHUS 

The    shadow    deepens!    See!    The    cloud    now 

swirls 
And  parts;  and,  topping  o'er  the  misty  rheum, 
A  lofty  pillar  rears  its  stony  crest. 
And  on  it,  lo !  the  figure  of  a  man, 
In  suppliant  attitude,  all  bent  and  bowed. 
As  one  crushed  utterly!    About  him  swarm 
And  crowd  a  thousand  hideous  shapes,  gibing 
And  threatening!    Horrible!    Oh,  horrible! 

DEMONS 

Stinking  hypocrite!    Bah! 
Think'st  thou  to  atone  for  others? 
219 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Thy  frailty  bear  their  sins! 

Bald  fool  on  the  pillar's  top! 

Thou  leprous  scab  of  folly! 

Ha!  ha!    Hell  shouts  with  laughter! 

SIMEON 

My  God,  my  God!    Help  thou  me  in  the  trial! 
I  faint  with  weakness! 

DEMONS 

He  faints,  the  cowardly  wretch! 

A  little  pain,  and  he  falls  down, 

Overcome.     Seize  him,  and  rack  him 

From  head  to  foot.     Crush  him  flat 

With  hell's  full  vengeance.     Shoot  lightnings 

Through  his  spine,  and  in  his  eyeballs 

Spit  keen  fire  to  his  brain. 

He'd  make  amends  for  other's  sins, 

Would  he?  and  bear  the  penalty, — 

This  lump  of  foulness,  this  filthy  clay, 

This  idiot  on  the  pillar's  top. 

Unshorn,  imkempt,  unwashed. 

Imputing  sanctity  to  dirt! 

Drivelhng  fanatic !    Hoary  fool ! 

SIMEON 

Upon  thy  merits.  Lord,  alone  I  lean: 
I  have  no  strength  but  thine.    Thou  didst  endure, 
220 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

Within  the  garden's  keep,  the  agony 

Of  sin^s  embrace,  and  felt  its  fetid  breath 

Upon  the  mirror  of  thy  purity; 

And  all  the  reeking  tide  of  evil  poured 

Its  slimy  floods  upon  thee,  stifling  thee, 

Till  nature,  pushed  beyond  her  durance,  swooned 

And  sweated  blood  through    all    thine    aching 

veins! 
Pour  from  the  precious  treasury  of  thy  pain 
Some  httle  grace  to  stay  my  impotence! 
Fill  up  my  emptiness  with  thy  vast  merit; 
For  I  but  merit  in  thy  merit,  Lord, 
And  gain  but  in  thy  gain. 

DEMONS 

Craven!  poltroon!    He's  afraid; 
He  dares  not  fight  alone, 
And  calls  for  aid  upon  another. 
We  call  upon  no  over-lord : 
Our  strength's  our  own,  all  undivided! 
In  independent  might  self-lords. 
We  bend  no  cringing  back. 
And  lift  no  suppliant  voice 
Whining  to  the  tjnrant! 
Upon  him.  Spirits  of  the  Deep! 
Rend  him!  flay  him  with  your  teeth 
From  head  to  heel,  till  the  red  flesh 
221 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Quiver  and  palpitate!    This 
For  the  lusts  of  Antioch! 

SIMEON 

They  scourged  thee  at  thy  pillar,  Lord,  till  Thou 

Didst  stand  in  thine  own  blood.    The  knotted  lash 

That  flaked  thy  flesh  away  —  O  piteous  sight!  — 

Was  the  red  tooth  of  foul  concupiscence; 

And  Thou  didst  stand  in  patience  and  endure, 

Silent,  the  ravenous  fang  that  bit  and  tore 

Thine  innocence  in  offering  for  our  sins! 

And  from  a  thousand  wounds  thy  mangled  flesh 

Wept  bloody  streams  upon  the  guilty  earth! 

By  thy  fierce  scourging,   Lord,   grant  me  new 

strength. 
And  from  the  vessels  of  thy  grace  fill  up 
My  nothingness  with  power! 

DEMONS 

Again  he  seeks  defence 

Behind  another's  might. 

The  skulker!    White-livered  dotard! 

Dastard,  we  spit  on  thee! 

Hast  thou  not  set  thyseK  up 

On  this  high  pillar's  top, 

A  shining  mark  of  sanctity 

For  all  the  country  round, 

A  protest  and  rebuke 

222 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

To  lustful  Antioch! 
And  for  its  sins  acceptest 
The  rigorous  penalties; 
Endurest  wind  and  rain 
And  storm  and  cold  and  heat 
For  its  soft  luxuries; 
Sufferest  the  filth  and  dirt 
Of  thy  scab-crusted  body, 
Fouling  these  long  and  tedious  years, 
For  its  nice  daintiness, 
Its  sensual  cleanhness; 
Bearest  hunger  and  thirst 
For  its  vile  gluttonies. 
Silence  and  soUtude 
For  its  wild  blasphemies 
And  lascivious  hours; 
The  narrow  prison  of  the  pillar 
For  its  hcentiousness! 
And  thou'rt  a  saint,  forsooth, 
And  workest  miracles. 
And  hearest  the  people  call  thee  saint, 
And  pray  to  thee  for  help 
At  thy  tall  pillar's  base! 
A  sorry  saint,  indeed. 
Who  darest  not  own  thy  shadow, 
Nor  comest  forth  to  meet  a  foe 
Out  of  thine  own  valiance, 
223 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

But,  supplicating,  whinest 
A  mongrel  prayer  to  Heaven, 
Timid  and  trembling !    Bah ! 
Psalm-droner !    Prayer-monger! 
Thou  a  saint!    Ha!  ha! 

SIMEON 

O  Lord,  upon  thy  handiwork  look  down 

With  love's  forbearing  eye;  for  I  am  naught 

Within  the  searching  splendour  of  thy  sight, 

Whose  vision  equals  to  thyself  alone. 

One  Lord  omnipotent  and  infinite. 

Maker  of  heaven  and  earth  through  thy  sole 

Word! 
Within  my  mother's  womb  thou  madest  me. 
And  out  of  the  abyss  of  nothingness 
Didst  give    me  being   through  very  love!  —  0 

Lord, 
My  God,  let  me  not  fail  to  love  again!  — 
And  nourished  me  and  cherished  me,  a  babe, 
Who  knew  thee  not,  in  helpless  infancy. 
And  guided  me  through  all  the  wayward  years 
Of  youth,  and  led  me  wandering  in  the  paths 
Of  sin  back  to  the  bosom  of  thy  mercy! 
Let  me  not  fail,  my  God,  nor  deem  myself 
Before  thee  aught  but  thy  poor  creature,  dust 
And  ashes  in  thy  hand! 

224 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 


DEMONS 

Grovellor!    Abject  worm, 
In  vile  abasement  crawling! 
Cracked  vessel  of  dishonour! 
Upon  him,  Spirits!    Befoul  him 
With  utmost  stench  and  filth! 
Traitor  to  his  manhood! 
Betrayer  of  his  sovereign  will! 
Thou  mimic  of  a  saint ! 
Thou  manikin!    Despiser 
Of  the  sacred  precious  gift 
Of  freedom,  kept  by  us  alone 
Intact  against  the  tyrant! 

SIMEON 

0  Lord,  Thou  dost  solicit  me  with  love, 
And  gently  knockest  at  my  heart,  calling 
Upon  me  sweetly !    And  I  may  close  the  door 
Against  Thee,  Lord,  and  answer  not;  for  Thou, 
0  Lord,  respectest  in  thy  handiwork 
The  gift  of  freedom,  which  Thou  didst  bestow 
Upon  Thy  creature,  who  but  holds  as  he 
Receives  from  Thee.     And  when,  0  Lord,  I  bid 
Thee  come,  moved  by  thy  blandishment.  Thou 

com'st 
In  the  swift  whirlwind  of  thy  love,  and  snatch'st 
225 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Me  up  in  ecstasy,  and  hold'st  me  ravished 
With  love!    For  I  am  thine,  O  Lord,  by  right 
Of  sovereignty;  and  Thou  art  mine  by  might 
Of  love!    Thou  gavest  me  myself,  O  Lord, 
And  hold'st  me  in  the  hollow  of  Thy  hand, 
Suspended  o'er  the  void  of  nothingness; 
And  then  Thou  gavest  me  thyself,  0  Lord, 
Pouring  thy  goodness  upon  me  like  a  flood 
Of  pleasant  waters  on  a  barren  plain ! 
And  Thou  hast  bought  me  with  a  price,  0  Lord 
And,  in  the  covenant  of  Christ  made  flesh, 
Hast  pledged  thyself  to  me,  and  feedest  me 
Upon  thyseK,  till  I  abide  in  Thee, 
And  Thou  in  me;  whereof  in  Thee  I  find 
The  fulness  of  all  love,  the  round  and  sum 
Of  all  desire!  for  in  Thee,  Lord,  I  am 
And  have  my  life,  and  move,  O  Lord,  in  Thee, 
Who  art  our  perfect  good  and  perfect  love, 
First  impulse  and  last  term  of  hberty. 
For  I,  O  Lord,  am  as  a  httle  child. 
And  Thou  the  eager  mother  of  the  child, 
Who  first  instils  in  him  desire  to  walk. 
And  leads  him  by  the  hand  that  he  may  walk. 
Then  kisses  him,  rewarding  him,  because 
He  walked,  who  neither  had  desire  to  walk, 
Save  through  the  inspiration  of  her  love. 
Nor  yet  had  walked  save  by  her  guiding  hand, 
226 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

And  still  withal  of  his  own  motion  walked; 

For  thine  the  grace,  O   Lord,  that  moves,  and 

thine 
The  grace  that  aids,  and  thine  the  guerdoning 

grace, 
That  crowns  thy  creature's  free  response,  who 

moves 
To  Thee  by  love  divine  solicited. 
And  rests  in  Thee  by  love  divine  rewarded. 

DEMONS 

Caviller!    Word-monger! 
Hoary  sophist  fouUng 

Man's  limpid  intelligence  with  murky  phrases; 
Clouding  the  crystal  brightness 
Of  independent  reason 
With  muddy  mysteries! 
We'll  teach  thee  proper  pride 
For  the  high  dignity 
Of  outraged  intellect 
Betrayed  and  surrendered 
By  thee  in  shameless  fear. 
To  be  tramped  mockingly 
Under  the  Tyrant's  feet! 
Lift  him  in  mid-air 
By  the  heels  and  dash  him  down 
Upon  the  rocks  beneath, 
227 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Smashing  his  foolish  skull, 
Scattering  the  muddled  brains, 
That  shame  the  high  prerogative 
And  abase  the  lofty  puissance 
Of  man's  lordly  mind  — 
Rush  upon  him!    Sweep  him  off! 

THALARCHUS 

My  God,  my  God,  let  not  the  malignant  host 
Prevail! 

THAIS 

Of  whom,  Thalarchus,  speakest  thou? 

ANTIPHON 

There  is  some  maggot  in  his  overwrought  brain, 
That  feeds  upon  his  reason;  let  be,  let  be, 
He'll  mend  by  morning. 

THALARCHUS 

Like  a  surcharged  cloud, 
Green  with  the  sulphurous  wrath  of  pent  hght- 

nings, 
They  gather  round  him,  ominous,  muttering! 
And  now  with  sudden  fury  unleash  upon  him! 
0  God!  —  See,  they  touch  him  not!  but  break 
Against  the  pillar's  edge  as  the  giant  sea 
Fhnging  against  a  beethng  cliff  is  stayed 
228 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

Roaring,  and  beaten  back  draws  to  the  deep 
Again,  foaming  in  angry  impotence ! 

SIMEON 

Thy  brows  were  crowned  with  thorns,  my  God, 

piercing 
Thy  temples  with  their  spikes,  and  all  around 
Thy  head  circled  the  barren  coronal 
Pressed  by  the  ribald  soldiers'  cruel  staves 
Into  the  bruised  flesh.     This  mock,  O  Lord, 
Thou  didst  endure  in  silent  humbleness, 
And  wore  this  leafless  diadem  of  pride 
For  sins  of  those,  who  insolently  boast 
The  shallow  plummet  of  their  little  minds 
Sounding  the  muddy  waters  of  time's  sea, 
Above  the  immeasurable,  sacrosanct 
Eternal  Reason  of  their  God  filUng 
The  crystal  oceans  of  the  infinite. 
Hear    me,    0    Lord,    and    let   thy   strength   be 

mine! 
Lift  thou  me  up  to  thy  humility. 
Who  only  knows  to  conquer  through  thy  pain! 
And  in  the  bloody  wine  spilled  from  the  vine. 
Whose  bitter  thorns  envised  thy  tender  brows, 
Sustain  my  weakness,  and  thy  pardon  pour 
Upon  the  pride  of  boastful  Antioch! 


229 


COLLECTED    POEMS 


THALARCHUS 

His  prayer  prevails !    Their  horrid  ranks  repulsed, 
Staggered  and  broken,  scatter  Hke  thinning  rack 
Before  the  first  keen  breath  of  crystal  winds 
Clearing  the  labouring  heavens. 

DEMONS  {retiring) 
Not  through  thy  might,  Simeon, 
Is  our  due  vengeance  stayed: 
Another^s  power  holds  us, 
Tyxannously  thrusts  us  back. 
Our  valour  undismayed 
Yields  only  for  the  moment. 
We'll  come  again  new  armed, 
And  crush  thee  flat  against 
The  earth,  and  stamp  thee  down 
Into  the  mire,  Hke  dung! 

SIMEON 

Now  praise  to  Thee,  O  Lord,  my  God,  all  praise! 
For  thine  the  power  and  thine  the  glory.  Lord, 
Who  sittest  on  the  Cherubim,  the  earth 
Thy  lowly  footstool  and  the  heavens  thy  throne! 
Before  thy  servant  Thou  didst  hold  thy  shield 
Against  the  demons'  power,  and  Hell  prevailed 

not! 
For  who  shall  stand  against  thy  might,  O  Lord? 
230 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

Before  thy  wrath  the  heavens  are  shrivelled, 
The  earth  is  smoke,  and  all  the  goods  thereof; 
The  sun  goes  out  in  darkness,  and  the  stars 
Flicker  and  die;  time  like  a  spent  breath 
Evanishes,    and   space   through   all   its    utmost 

bounds 
Shrinks  shuddering!    Nor  earth,  nor  heaven,  nor 

hell 
May  stand  before  thee.  Lord,  eterne  and  sole, 
Coequal  with  thyself  alone  in  being, 
In  power,  ii;i  love  and  goodness  infinite. 
Perfect  and  absolute  and  all-sufficient 
Within  thyself  who  art  eternal  good ! 
But  thou,  0  Lord,  wilt  not  destroy  thy  works: 
Thou  lov'st  the  goodly  order  of  thy  hand, 
And  out  of  the  disorder  of  our  sins 
Hast  drawn  still  sweeter  harmonies  of  love 
Through  him  thine  only  Son,  consubstant  God 
With  Thee,  who  stooping  to  our  lowliness 
Lifted  our  nature  to  thy  holiness. 
And  spanned  the  chasm  in  nature  and  in  grace. 
Which  sin  had  breached  through  all  our  universe; 
And,  bearing  all  the  burden  of  our  fault, 
Made  gracious  healing  in  vicarious  pain, 
Consummate  in  the  awful  sacrifice 
Upon  Golgotha's  trembhng  mount,  when  all 
The  elements  made  moan,  and  stricken  Nature, 
231 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Sighing  through  all  her  ways,  in  darkness  veiled 
Her  conscious  eyes!    Through  Him,  0  Lord,  the 

power, 
By  Him  the  victory,  and  unto  Him 
The  glory!    I  but  a  shaken  reed  fearful 
Before  the  blast,  broken,  save  for  thy  hand 
Sheltering  thy  creature's  weakness  in  the  storm. 

THALARCHUS 

Oh,  how  sublime  his  words,  how  great  the  power 
Thereof,  scattering  the  helhsh  crew  hke  dust 
In  the  whirlwind,  beating  their  mahce  down 
As  the  keen  hail  levels  the  boastful  pride 
Of  summer  fields!    O  mystery  of  pain 
And  death,  that  issuest  in  power  and  life, 
Grant  me  to  see!    Upon  my  purblind  heart 
Pour  down  thy  deep  irradiance,  and  pierce 
The  fetid  exhalations  of  my  sins. 
That  bhnd  the  soul's  uncleansed  and  rheumy  eye! 
Inflame  me  with  desire,  and  purge  me  clean 
In  penitential  fires,  till  I,  too,  learn 
To  love  as  Simeon,  a  holocaust  in  Christ 
For  wanton  Antioch's  iniquities! 
Simeon,  upon  thy  pillar's  top  pray  thou 
For  me,  who  mocked  thee  and  thy  God,  and  knew 
Thee  not,  nor  him,  and  knowing  not,  reviled 
And  called  thee  fool,  fanatic,  dotard,  dolt, 
232 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

And  heaped  upon  thee  all  the  ribaldry 

Of  the  contemptuous  world,  the  scorn  of  pride, 

The  scoff,  the  jest,  the  easy  ridicule 

Of  sensual  hearts,  whose  unpurged  lust  feeling 

The  secret  sting  of  others'  holiness, 

As  the  sharp  thorn  beneath  the  rose,  resents 

The  silent  imputation  of  its  guilt, 

And  brooking  not  the  impeachment  of  its  shame, 

With  pitchy  tongue  envenomed  in  foul  hates, 

Spits  out  the  bawdy  mockeries  of  its  filth 

Upon  the  lilies  of  love's  sanctities. 

0  Simeon,  pray  for  me,  whose  sins  thou  takest 
In  suffering  upon  the  pillar's  height, 

Under  the  pitiless  sun,  the  icy  stars, 

In  pangs  of  nature  and  assaults  of  hell; 

Pray  thou  for  me,  who  from  the  depths  below 

Cries  out  in  agonies  of  shame  and  calls 

In  Christ's  dear  name  for  mercy  and  for  pardon! 

SIMEON 

1  hear  a  voice  as  of  one  caUing  out 

And  beating  at  the  gates  of  mercy!    Lord, 
Hear  him  and  open  unto  him! 


THAIS 

His  madness  now  addresses? 
233 


Who  is't 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

ANTIPHON 

One,  Simeon, 
They  call  the  Stylite,  an  idiot  monk,  who  lives 
Upon  a  pillar's  top  near  Antioch, 
Some  twenty  miles  beyond  the  city's  gates. 

THAIS 

I've  heard  the  rumour  of  this  strange  disease. 

SIMEON 

Lord,  by  thy  bloody  sweat,  have  mercy.  Lord! 

ANTIPHON 

Under  the  subtle  witchery  of  the  wine 

This  monkish  madness  has  seized  upon  his  wits, 

And  holds  his  fancy:  it  will  pass  anon. 

SIMEON 

By  thy  red  scourging  at  the  pillar.  Lord, 
Have  mercy!    Let  his  cry  come  unto  Thee! 

CHAKMIDES 

Heed  not  Thalarchus,  Thais:   to-morrow's  morn 
Will  see  his  health  restored. —  Come,  I  pledge 
Thy  beauty  in  this  draught! 

THAIS 

I'll  drink  with  thee! 
Let  Bacchus  blow  the  fire  and  Venus  lead! 
234 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 


SIMEON 

Hearken  unto  Thy  creature's  cry,  O  Lord! 
Gird  not  the  bowels  of  mercy  up,  but  hear! 
For  Thou  has  said.  Whoso  shall  knock,  to  him 
Shall  it  be  opened.    By  the  clotted  thorns 
About  thy  brow,  the  raillery  and  the  mock 
Of  Pilate's  soldiers  spitting  on  Thee,  Lord, 
Incline  unto  thy  creature's  lowliness. 
Who  cries  to  thee  from  out  the  depths,  and  calls 
Unto  the  ear  of  thy  compassion,  Lord; 
For  Thou  didst  take  our  frailty  on  thyself 
In  pity  of  our  sins. 

THALARCHUS 

Blessed  be  thou, 
O  Simeon,  thrice  blessed  thou  who  pray'st 
For  me  sunk  in  the  foulness  of  my  sins ! 

SIMEON 

Thou  wilt  not.  Lord,  refuse  a  contrite  heart; 
And  Thou  didst  pardon  Mary  Magdalene, 
Who  wept  her  sorrow  on  thy  sacred  feet, 
And  him  who  cried  to  Thee  beside  thy  cross; 
And  Thou  didst  heal  the  lepers  of  their  sores, 
Till  they  were  fair  to  look  upon;  and  him 
That  lay  asick  of  bed,  thou  didst  unloose 
Of  all  his  sins  and  bid  him  rise  and  walk; 
235 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

For  thou  didst  come  with  healing  in  thy  hands 
And  mercy  unto  life  again  for  them 
That  would  arise  from  out  their  sinfulness 
To  walk  with  thee. 

DEMONS  (in  distance) 

He^s  winning  Thalarchus  from  us! 
Let  him  not  prevail!    Curse  him! 
Were't  not  for  the  Despot's  power, 
Who  tyrannously  holds  us  back, 
We'd  snatch  and  lift  his  column 
In  mid-air,  and  dash  it  to  earth 
And  smash  it,  and  him  with  it. 
Who  now,  on  his  filthy  eerie 
Of  vantage,  drones  his  prayers 
To  hstening  Heaven  against 
Our  valour  and  our  might! 
We  ask  but  a  fair  field 
To  smite  him  down  and  crush  him! 
This  vagabond  of  sanctity! 
Let  him  go  back  to  his  cell 
And  mumble  his  unctuous  prayers 
In  secret  to  his  fattened  God. 
Hate  seize  us  and  rack  us 
At  mention  of  that  name ! 
Let  him  not  stand  conspicuous 
Upon  the  pillar's  top  before 
236 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

The  people,  to  seduce  them 

From  their  soft  living 

And  mellowed  luxuries 

By  his  austere  ensample 

Of  dire  mortification 

And  penance  vicarious! 

'Tis  against  the  cloister's  rule: 

Why  do  they  tolerate  it? 

But  we'll  o'ercome  him  yet: 

Hell's  not  easily  foiled! 

We  have  an  arrow  left 

In  bur  quiver  to  pierce  him. 

Ha!  ha!  we  know  a  way 

To  snare  this  filthy  bird, 

And  drag  him  from  his  nest. 

Ha!  ha!  we'll  show  him  yet 

The  craft  of  independent 

Intellect  he  so  derides 

And  flouts  in  abject  obeisance 

To  the  Tyrant  he  worships!    Ha!  ha! 

We  know  a  way  to  lime  him! 

We'll  double  on  the  ancient  fox 

Before  he  runs  to  earth  again! 

SIMEON 

Let  him  not  perish.  Lord,  who  calls  on  Thee! 
As  Thou  didst  suffer  Simon  to  take  Thy  cross 
237 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Upon  the  heavy  way  to  Calvary, 
Though  asking  not,  yet  after  bearing  gladly, — 
Suffer  Thy  creature  now  who  pleads  with  thee. 
To  share  its  burden  humbly.  Lord,  with  thee, 
And  out  of  the  vast  fulness  of  thy  love 
Draw  balm  and  heahng  for  his  sinful  hurts. 
On  me,  0  Lord,  the  creature  of  thy  hand. 
Who  am  as  nothing  in  thy  sight,  the  least 
Of  those  who  serve  Thee,  of  infirmities 
Full  as  a  sieve  of  meshes  holding  nought, — 
On  me,  O  Lord,  the  fellow  of  his  hour, 
His  country,  and  his  city,  pour  the  pain 
Of  his  offending,  till  thy  justice  shifts 
Her  beam  and  balances  her  scale  again 
In  full  amend  of  penance  done.     And  this, 
O  Lord,  prostrate  before  thee  in  the  dust 
Of  mine  unworthiness,  mote  in  the  breath 
Of  thine  infinitude,  I  humbly  pray 
Out  of  the  preciousness  of  Christ's  spent  blood, 
Which  purchased  us  with  ransom  infinite, 
Eternal  price  of  Adam's  and  our  sin! 

DEMONS  (approaching) 

Woe!  woe!  we're  overcome. 
Routed  by  Simeon's  prayer! 
Great  is  his  holiness. 
That  conquereth  our  might, 
238 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

Lords  of  the  deep  with  power 
O'er  hell's  dominion  wide; 
Spirits  of  darkness  knowing 
The  potent  secrets  of  nature, 
Seducing  the  lordly  race 
Of  men  to  open  rebellion 
Against  their  Maker.    Woe!  woe! 
Our  pride  is  fallen,  our  boast 
Is  broken,  crushed  down  flat 
By  Simeon's  might  in  prayer. 
Woe  to  us,  woe!    Keener 
Than  pangs  of  hell  the  shame 
Of  defeat  by  Simeon  brought 
Upon  our  puissant  ranks 
Broken  against  the  rampart 
Of  his  potent  prayer. 
As  the  dusty  simoon  breaks 
Against  the  bulwarked  mountain! 
Woe!  woe!  0  shameful  woe! 
Hate  unto  him  forever! 

SIMEON 

Bear  down  upon  me,  Lord,  bear  down  and  plunge 
Me  in  the  abyss  of  emptiness,  whence  I 
Was  drawn  by  Thee,  the  creature  of  thy  love! 
The  clamour  of  hell  is  but  a  noisy  wind 
Before  Thee,  vain  as  froth  upon  the  wave. 
239 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

The  arrow  of  their  hate  they  aim  at  Thee, 
I  but  the  seeming  mark.     For  Thine,  O  Lord, 
The  power  that  scatters  them;  and  they,  0  Lord, 
As  I,  are  but  the  creatures  of  thy  breath. 
Hardened  against  Thee  in  their  pride,  envious 
Of  man  whom  thou  hast  made  to  fill  their  place. 
And  I  am  but  an  empty  vessel  filled 
With  the  omnipotence  of  prayer,  which  Thou 
In  largess  of  thy  love  hast  poured  in  me; 
And  sufferest  me  to  use  against  their  power. 
Whose  damning  praise  is  but  the  silken  snare 
Of  flattery,  with  which  bold  Satan  once 
Essayed  to  take  the  soul  of  Christ  himself! 
And  Christ's  the  glory  sole  against  the  power 
Of  hell  broken  by  him  forever! 

DEMONS  {on  right  side,  disguised  now  as  Angels  of 

Light) 
Hail,  Simeon,  victor  o'er  the  hellish  host! 
By  Heaven  sent,  we  come  to  solace  thee 
With  happy  tidings  and  assurance  glad 
Of  Heaven's  high  approval.     Thou  hast  fought 
The  goodly  fight  and  won.     Hail  to  thee,  saint! 

SIMEON 

Now  praise  to  Jesus  Christ  alone!    To  Him 
The  glory,  whose  right  hand  of  power  reaches 
To  midmost  hell! 

240 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

DEMONS  {on  left  side,  undisguised) 
Why  speaks  he  the  Terrible  Name, 
That  makes  all  hell  shudder 
Unto  its  deepest  deeps! 
Curse  it!  curse  it!  curse  it! 

DEMONS  {on  right  side) 
Rest  thee,  Simeon;  for  thou  hast  earned  thy  meed. 
Behold  the  raging  elements  repressed, 
Which  hell  with  malice  vain  against  thee  roused. 
And  all  the  air  that  lately  shook  with  storm 
And  roared,  rent  with  the  crackling  thunderbolt, 
Slumbers  in  mellow  quiet  and  breathes  soft  balm. 
Down  from  the  glowing  arches  of  the  night. 
Peace,  dovelike  on  her  rediscovered  nest. 
In  feathery  silence  droops,  and  dreaming  broods; 
Tender  as  mothers'  eyes  upon  their  babes. 
And  pure,  the  glimmering  ardour  of  the  stars 
Falls  on  the  shadowed  earth  and  wearied  men 
Sunk  in  the  bath  of  slumber  after  toil. 
To  wake  upon  the  coming  morn  refreshed 
Against  the  burden  of  the  hastening  day. 
All  nature  sleeps  and  rests,  drawing  new  life 
From  the  deep  fountains  of  repose;  for  so 
The  wisdom  of  the  Maker  foreordained. 
Dividing  night  from  day.     Rest  thee,  and  sleep, 
O  holy  Simeon,  while  we  watch  and  guard. 
241 


COLLECTED    POEMS 


SIMEON 

The  rounded  beauty  of  the  night,  thy  hand, 

O  Lord,  in  the  beginning  builded  up, 

And  fixed  the  pillars  of  the  firmament, 

And  gave  their  motions  to  the  wheehng  stars, 

Making  thy  glory  manifest  on  high : 

Thy  word  uttered  above  the  void  brought  forth 

The  sohd  earth  and  all  that  live  thereon, 

The  circHng  seas  and  all  that  swim  therein. 

The  Hquid  air  and  all  that  fly  therein. 

Each  in  its  place  and  moving  in  its  sphere 

With  variant  note  blending  concordant  song, 

And  making  in  the  conch^d  ear  of  Heaven 

Vast  harmony.     And  so  the  whole  round  world 

And  the  respondent  heavens,  0  Lord,  utter 

Thy  glory  and  make  manifest  thy  praise! 

For  thine  the  gentle  silence  of  the  night, 

And  thine  the  softness  of  the  balmy  air, 

And  thine  the  sweet  refreshment  of  repose 

And  strength   renewed  in  man  and  beast  and 

fowl; 
And  thine  the  glory  of  the  golden  morn. 
And  all  the  splendour  of  the  rising  sun 
Shedding  the  benediction  of  its  fight 
Upon  the  waking  world. 


242 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

DEMONS  {on  right  side) 

Nay,  holy  man, 
Rest  thee;   and  whilst  thou  slumberest,  drawing 
New  vigour  from  the  crystal  fonts  of  sleep, 
We'll  raise  on  high  the  hymn  of  praise. 

THALARCHUS 

Simeon, 
Pray  thou  for  me,  and  at  the  feet  of  Christ 
Make  intercession  for  my  grievous  sins! 

DEMONS  {on  right  side) 

Thou'rt  wearied,  Simeon,  and  thy  force  is  spent. 
The  very  desert  sleeps,  and  darkness  shrouds 
The  land  heavy  with  silence,  wooing  all 
To  rest.     Deep  is  the  shadow  of  the  night, 
And  nature  yields  responsive  to  the  law 
Ordained  in  the  beginning.     Spent  art  thou 
With  battling  'gainst  the  routed  hosts  of  hell. 
And  all  thy  racked  and  bruised  frame  leaden 
With  weight  of  toil  drags  down  thy  spirit  worn 
With  unremitted  prayer  against  thy  foe. 
Respite  thy  vigilance  and  prayerful  might; 
And  to  great  nature's  hest  surrendering. 
In  due  obedience  to  its  Maker's  law. 
In  slumber  steep  thy  flagging  powers,  and  rest. 
243 


COLLECTED  POEMS 

THALARCHUS 

Simeon,  Simeon,  pray  thou  for  me  whose  heart 
Is  withered  with  his  sins! 

ANTIPHON 

The  night  hath  past 
The  middle  heavens  two  hours  and  more:  'tis  late. 
I  go.     Farewell,  good  friends. 

CHARMIDES 

Love  knows  no  hour: 
I  stay  with  thee,  Thais,  be  it  night  or  day. 

THAIS 

Now  is  the  ripened  hour  of  revel.    Stay, 
O  Antiphon,  and  drink  with  me!    I  touch 
Thy  goblet  with  my  hps.    Wilt  not  refuse 
My  pledge! 

ANTIPHON 

I  yield  the  golden  moment,  Thais, 
And  staying  court  the  precious,  sweet  delay. 

THALARCHUS 

Simeon,  Simeon,  pray  thou  for  me  whose  soul 
Lies  in  the  darkness  of  its  evil  days! 
244 


The    FEAST    0/    THALARCHUS 


SIMEON 

Let  him  not  perish,  Lord,  whose  voice  I  hear 

Out  of  the  night  in  supplication  raised ! 

Renew  his  heart,  and  thy  refreshment  pour 

Upon  his  bruised  spirit  crying  out! 

If  Thou,  O  Lord,  wilt  mark  iniquities. 

Lord,  who  shall  stand?    Spare  us,  and  gather  not 

Our  sins  against  the  day  of  wrath,  but  hear, 

O  Lord,  and  let  our  prayer  come  unto  thee! 

Thy  mercy.  Lord  is  even  above  thy  works; 

And  thou  hast  made  thy  mercy  manifest 

In  Christ,  who  stood  for  our  iniquities, 

And  took  our  sins  away!    Have  mercy.  Lord, 

And  by  Christ's  blood  hearken  unto  our  cry! 

DEMONS  {on  left  side) 

Confusion  upon  him!    Tempt  him! 
Let  him  not  escape!    Tempt  him! 

DEMONS  (on  right  side) 

Heaven  commend  thy  vigilance,  0  saint, 
And  we  but  tried  thee  for  the  Lord.    The  voice 
Thou  hearest  crying  is  the  voice  of  one 
Who  prays  in  Antioch,  by  Heaven's  power 
Permitted  through  the  thick  and  heavy  night 
To  see  thee  on  the  pillar's  top,  and,  touched 
245 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

By  grace  at  sight  of  thee,  cries  out  for  pardon. 
The  ways  of  Heaven  are  merciful,  nor  time 
Nor  place  resists  the  beating  floods  of  grace 
Poured  from  the  copious  fountains  of  its  love : 
E'en  in  the  midst  of  riot  and  of  sin 
The  impetuous  tide  of  mercy  snatches  him. 
And  bears  him  to  the  deeps  of  love  beyond. 
And  Heaven,  to  solace  thee  in  recompense 
Of  all  thou  hast  endured  and  overcome, 
Puts  back  the  murky  curtain  of  the  dark, 
And  suffers  thee  to  look  upon  the  scene : 
Behold  Thalarchus  and  the  wanton  feast, 
Where  thou  hast  conquered  and  beat  back  the 

lords 
Of  hell!    Look,  Simeon,  and  rejoice! 

THALARCHUS 

Pray,  pray, 
O  Simeon;  for  my  heart  is  dust,  my  soul 
Ashes,  and  all  my  years  but  bitterness! 

SIMEON 

The  Lord  will  water  thee  and  make  thee  sprout; 
For  He  is  Lord  of  love.     Mighty  His  power, 
That  overcometh  death  and  puts  down  sin 
Under  his  feet!    How  wonderful  thy  ways, 
O  Lord,  and  no  man  knoweth  them;  for  who 
Hath  been  thy  counsellor?    For  of  thee.  Lord, 
246 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

And  by  thee  are  all  things,  and  in  thee  all, 
Who  are  from  the  beginning  sole,  and  are 
Eternal  term  unto  thyself  alone ! 
Praise  ye  the  Lord,  ye  heavenly  creatures,  praise! 
Ye  Cherubim  and  Seraphim  and  Powers 
And  all  Angelic  Hierarchies  ranged 
In  flaming  choirs,  and  all  ye  blessed  hosts 
And  saints  that  bask  within  his  beam  eterne. 
Ye  spotless  Hhes  of  Christ's  fruitful  love, — 
Praise  ye  the  Lord  through  all  your  ringing  ranks! 
And  thou,  whose  virgin  flesh  didst  bear  His  Son, 
Alone  of  Adam's  race  untouched  of  sin, 
Co-worker  in  Redemption's  plan  by  grace 
Of  Him  who  had  regard  for  thy  humiUty, 
And  lifted  thee  above  all  creatures  else 
In  Heaven's  celestial  ranks  or  on  the  earth 
Unto  that  dignity  of  motherhood 
So  sacrosanct  that  none  save  Him  alone 
May  comprehend  the  height  and  depth  and  term 
Of  its  exalted  holiness, —  praise  ye 
The  Lord!    Rejoice  and  be  glad  with  me 
Who,  falling  down  before  His  Face,  Kft  up 
My  voice  and  cry  out  in  exceeding  joy. 
Seeing  this  marvel  of  the  Lord's  right  hand! 
For  wonderful  the  starry  heavens  above. 
The  unseen  fountains  of  the  crystal  sea, 
The  far  foundations  of  the  fix6d  earth, 
247 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

The  little  things  and  great  of  all  that  is, 

The  tiny  creature  floating  in  the  light, 

The  spaces  of  the  yawning  universe. 

And  time's  wide  tract  from  utmost  shore  to  shore 

Of  his  eternity  so  wonderful 

And  beautiful  in  number,  weight,  and  measure, 

Balanced  within  his  all-sustaining  hand. 

And  moving  in  the  order  of  his  power 

To  that  ordained  and  harmonious  end 

Set  in  His  wisdom  for  their  perfect  close, — 

Praise  ye  the  Lord  for  these  His  mighty  works, 

But  praise  ye  more  beyond  all  praise  of  words, 

Beyond  all  utterance  of  human  tongue. 

Beyond  the  vastest  reach  of  angel's  thought, 

That  mystery  of  grace  and  farthest  love. 

Touching  the  sinner's  hard  averted  will. 

Subduing  pride  and  melting  all  the  soul 

To  tears,  till  it  incline  to  him  again; 

And  spurning  all  its  hated  servitude. 

Inviolate  of  all  constraint,  rises 

Enfranchised  from  its  reeking  bed  of  sin 

And  freely  answers  to  the  call  of  Love! 

O  wondrous  miracle,  O  mystery 

Of  Love  beyond  all  knowing!    Praise  ye 

The  Lord,  ye  hills  and  mountains,  valleys    and 

plains, 
O  earth  and  heaven,  and  ye  shining  stars, 
248 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

Ye  blessed  hosts  of  happiness,  ye  Powers, 
Ye  Dominations,  Angels  and  Archangels, 
Till  all  the  universe  of  high  and  low 
Trembling,  responsive  with  the  harmony 
In  circling  joy  about  the  throne  of  Love, 
Sing  in  the  swelling  chorus  of  its  praise, 
Hosanna  to  the  Lord!    Hosanna!    Hosanna! 

THALARCHUS 

0  waters  of  great  joy  upon  my  soul. 
Refreshing  all  my  faintness!    On  the  wings 
Of  morning  am  I  Uf ted  up !    O  balm 
Of  healing  to  my  wounded  spirit!    Simeon, 
Thy  words  are  holy  courage  in  my  heart! 

DEMONS  (on  left  side) 

Confusion  on  him!    Tempt  him! 
He  prays  like  a  mighty  fountain 
Leaping  to  Heaven  —  tempt  him ! 
Ye  sluggish  spirits,  shame 
On  your  vaunted  cunning,  boasters! 
Shall  it  be  said  in  hell 
That  this  broken  and  wasted  fool 
Worsted  the  high  intelligence 
Of  pure  spirits  heaven-born. 
Though  cast  out  by  the  Tyrant 
By  sheer  force  —  shame  us  not! 
249 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Make  no  delay!    Tempt    him! 

And  in  this  subtle  net 

Drag  him  from  his  high  perch ! 

DEMONS  (on  right  side) 

Thy  prayers  have  wrenched  Thalarchus  from  the 

grip 
Of  hell  e'en  midst  the  orgies  of  the  feast! 
Upon  thy  victory  feed  thine  eager  soul; 
For  Heaven  vouchsafes  this  sweet  reward.     Be- 
hold 
The  banquet's  vast  luxuriance  scattered 
By  prodigality  with  wanton  hands 
Careless  of  use.    The  enamoured  heavy  air, 
Pregnant  with  perfume  of  a  thousand  flowers, 
Falling  in  flaky  rain  from  unseen  hands, 
Melts  all  the  soul  to  indolence,  and  soothes 
The  swooning  sense;    the  fountains  plash  and 

murmur 
In  dreamy  rhythm  on  the  drowsy  ear. 
Blending  with  throbbing  music  soft  and  low. 
Whose  gentle  cadences,  from  fretted  string 
And  oaten  stop  blowing  its  mellow  sound, 
Mingle  their  dulcet  harmonies,  stealing 
Into  the  brain  and  mellowing  the  spirit 
To  sensuous  languors.     See,  around  about 
A  thousand  lamps,  feeding  on  scented  oils 
250 


The    FEAST    oj    THALARCHUS 

In  jewelled  transparencies  encaged,  throw  out 
Their  irised  radiance,  shedding  warmth  and  light 
Upon  the  gleaming  marbles  of  the  hall, 
Teeming  with  mirth  and  revelry  and  love. 
Rest  thee,  O  Simeon,  a  little  moment  here; 
And  let  thy  wearied  eye,  that  naught  beholds 
Save  blinding  leagues  of  sandy  wastes  stretching 
Beneath  the  beating  glare  of  desert  suns, 
Couch  now  an  instant  on  the  mellow  scene. 

SIMEON 

Bleak  were  thy  hills,  O  Judah,  when  He  came, 
My  Lord  and  God,  unsheltered  from  the  winds, 
Save  for  the  lonely  stable's  broken  thatch; 
And  for  his  tender  limbs  the  manger's  straw, 
Cropped  by  the  dumb,  unconscious  brutes,  that 

shared 
His  lowliness.     Cast  out  by  men,  he  found 
Rude  habitation  with  the  beasts  alone; 
Nor  light  nor  warmth  diffused  their  tenderness 
Around,  nor  ministrant  were  servile  hands 
In  purple  and  fine  linen  to  array 
His  innocence.     He  came  unto  his  own. 
And  they  received  him  not,  and  knew  him  not, 
Rejected  and  despised  of  men.     O  Lord, 
My  God,  e'en  in  the  cradle  thou  didst  choose 
The  way  of  sorrow,  and,  a  babe,  espouse 
251 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

The  bitter  bride  of  poverty,  to  point 
The  way  of  those  who  love.     O  Holy  Babe, 
So  low  in  thy  humility  that  man, 
By  thine  ensample,  may  be  hfted  up, 
Raise  us  from  out  this  slough  of  wantoness, 
And  by  the  desolation  of  thy  crib 
Forgive  us  this  our  sin's  luxurious  ease! 

THALARCHUS 

O  Christ,  thy  poverty  be  mine! 

DEMONS  (on  right  side) 
The  savour  of  rare  viands  rise  up  to  whet 
The  appetite,  and  moist  the  wrinkled  lip 
Of  hunger  with  sharp  longing. 

SIMEON 

Thou,  0  Lord, 
Didst  fast  within  the  desert  forty  days, 
And  Satan  tempted  thee! 

DEMONS  (on  right  side) 

Thy  throat  is  parched, 
And  all  thy  tongue  aflame  with  thirst;  for  dry 
And  hot  the  air  under  the  desert  sun. 
And  small  the  share  of  water  brought  to  thee 
By  thy  forgetful  brethren  of  the  cells. 
Packed  in  its  snowy  bed  the  crater  stands. 
And  cool  the  wine  upon  the  crackled  lip; 
252 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

Refreshing  is  the  sweet,  red  draught  charging 
The  feverish  veins  with  ruddy  life  again. 

SIMEON 

When  thou,  O  Lord,  upon  thy  cross  didst  cry, 
'*I  thirst,"  they  gave  thee  vinegar  and  gall. 

DEMONS  {on  right  side) 
Thou'rt  ever  mindful,  Simeon,  of  thy  Lord; 
And  valorous  art  thou  in  thy  vigilance. 
All  heaven  rejoices  in  thy  holiness. 
Thalarchus  thou  hast  won  by  dint  of  prayer 
Accepting  all  the  burden  of  his  sins. 
For  this  high  Heaven  permitted  the  assault 
Of  hell  to-night  to  try  thy  fortitude; 
And  gloriously  hast  thou  conquered,  Simeon. 
And  now  let  not  thy  charity  wane  cold; 
But  as  the  imperial  sun  in  heaven's  high  arch, 
Whose  glowing  eye  looks  down  upon  the  earth's 
Outstretched  demesne  from  morn's  to  eve's  red 

marge, 
And  sheds  celestial  heats  on  all  alike, 
So  let  the  furnace  of  thy  saintly  love 
Beam  down  its  radiance  on  all  sinners  here. 
Have   pity  on  them,   Simeon,   and   draw  from 

Heaven, 
Through  the  vicarious  offering  of  thyself. 
Pardon  and  mercy.     Heaven  will  hear;  for  what 
253 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

More  grateful  in  heaven's  eye,  after  the  Lord's 
Own  sacrifice,  the  source  and  root  of  all, 
Than  the  abandonment  of  utter  love 
Making  atonement  for  another's  sin? 
For  greater  love  than  that  a  man  lay  down 
His  life  for  other,  no  man  hath. 

SIMEON 

Yea,  Lord, 
Thy  life  Thou  didst  lay  down  for  each  and  all. 
Thy  love  immeasurable,  and  as  thy  love 
Thy  sacrifice.    And  Thou  wast  lifted  up 
To  draw  all  things  to  Thee,  and,  drawing,  win 
The  hearts  of  men  to  sacrifice  of  self. 
And  lose  themselves  in  love  of  Thee,  to  find 
Themselves  in  Thee  transfigured !    I,  0  Lord, 
Seek  only  Thee,  and  them  in  Thee,  and  Thee 
In  them,  whom  Thou  hast  bought  with  a  great 

price! 
Thou  callest  them,  O  Lord:  grant  them  to  hear! 
And  in  thy  mercy  lift  them  up! 

DEMONS  (on  right  side) 

Simeon, 
Behold  Thais,  the  chiefest  sinner  here. 
Steeped  in  the  slumber  of  the  wine!    Pray  thou 
For  her,  a  sinful  daughter  of  weak  Eve. 
Let  not  such  beauty  be  the  prey  of  hell! 
254 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

Not  Eve  herself  came  from  her  Maker's  hand 
More   fair.     SHpped   from   the   fillet's   amorous 

clasp, 
Her  locks,  like  silken  gold  from  looms  of  light, 
Shower  down  a  streaming  glory  gleaming  about 
The  whiteness  of  her  shoulder's  ivory  arch, 
As  star-shafts  on  the  billow's  crested  foam; 
Her  lips  incarnadine,  her  flushed  cheek  — 

SIMEON 

They  gashed  thy  hands  and  feet  with  nails,  O 

Lord, 
And,  lifting  up  thy  heavy  gibbet,  plunged 
It  in  its  earthy  socket  shuddering, 
Tearing  thy  tender,  gaping  wounds  anew. 
And  racking  all  thy  jarred  and  bruised  frame 
With  sudden  agony!    Pierce  me,  0  Lord, 
With  that  fierce  pain,  and  rack  this  recreant 

flesh, 
The  weak  inheritance  of  Adam's  sin. 
That  through  thy  merit  I  may  somewise  share 
With  thee  the  dire  atonement  of  her  sin! 

DEMONS  {on  left  side) 

He  escapes!    Confusion  and  shame! 
He  escapes! 


255 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

DEMONS  {on  right  side,  throwing  off  disguise) 

We  are  baffled! 
The  Tyrant  suffers  us  not 
To  gain  one  slightest  foothold 
Within  the  circle  of  his  soul ! 

DEMONS  (on  left  side) 
Upon  him!    Seize  him! 
Tear  him!    Smash  his  pillar! 

DEMONS  (on  right  side) 
Unleash  your  pent  rage  like  hail! 
Assault  him  and  crush  him!    Come! 
Let  all  rush  on  like  furious  fire! 

THALARCHUS 

All  hell  vomits  itself  upon  him !    Lord, 
Thy  servant  guard!    Portentous  they  loom, 

monstrous, 
In  size  giants,  in  shape  most  horrible; 
With  eyes  of  fire  and  wide  outstretching  vans 
With   flaming   Hghtnings   veined,    onward   they 

sweep. 
As  though  to  engulf  the  world  in  hellish  storm! 
But    no!    See,    Heaven    forbids!    They    sway! 

They  stop! 
And  now  as  swollen  clouds,  pregnant  with  death, 
256 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

Meeting  an  adverse  wind,  are  stayed  and  blown 

back, 
Their  dreadful  host,  sullen  and  muttering, 
Recede  before  the  breath  of  Heaven!    And,  lo! 
They  melt  away  into  the  empty  air! 
{Enter  Xenares) 

XENARES 

My  lord,  the  night  is  dying  in  the  west. 

And  dawn  appears.     The  guests  are  gone,  save 

those 
Who  lie  here  drowned  in  wine.     The  air  is  dank 
With  poisonous  humours  of  the  heavy  morn, 
And  thou  art  pale.    Wilt  go  within? 

THALARCHUS 

Tis  gone! 
Evanished!     O     gracious     vision     by     Heaven 
vouchsafed ! 

XENARES 

What,  my  lord? 

THALARCHUS 

The  wonder  of  it! 

XENARES 

My  lord, 
Wilt  come  within?     'Tis  damp:  thou'rt  ill. 
257 


COLLECTED  POEMS 


THALARCHUS 

I  am, 
Xenares,  ill  and  well. 

XENARES 

How's  that,  my  lord? 

THALARCHUS 

111  with  the  past,  and  well  with  what's  to  come. 

XENARES 

My  lord,  I  do  not  understand. 

THALARCHUS 

Last  night 
Thou  saw'st  me  ill. 

XENARES 

Nay,  my  good  lord,  never 
Did  health  mantle  more  ruddy  in  thy  cheek, 
Nor  shine  so  proudly  in  thine  eye. 

THALARCHUS 

Yet  was  I  ill; 
Sick  unto  death!    Ill  in  the  lustful  riot 
Of  misspent  days,  those  precious  pearls  of  time. 
Which  I,  with  wanton  and  regardless  hand, 
Flung  on  the  dung-heaps  of  this  wasteful  world; 
But  now,  Xenares,  well  in  the  high  hope 
258 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

Of  Simeon's  prayers  and  mine  own  penitence 
Rooted  within  the  rich,  most  precious  earth 
Of  Christ's  vast  charity. 

XENARES 

May't  please  thee,  sir, 
To  go  within? 

THALARCHUS 

No,  Xenares  —  hear  me: 
Of  all  my  goods  take  inventory:  pay 
What  I  may  owe  out  of  my  fortune's  wreck, 
Reserving  for  thyself  a  moiety 
To  keep  thee  from  the  fangs  of  beggary. 
What  may  remain,  give  to  the  poor.     To-day 
I  manumit  thee:  thou  art  free.     I  know 
Thy  worth  and  honest  heart,  and  so  repose 
My  trust.     I  go  from  Antioch. 

XENARES 

Indeed, 
My  lord,  thou'rt  very  ill.     I  pray  thee  — 


THALARCHUS 

Be  not  thus  urgent.    Hence  I  go  forever. 
I've  quitted  me  the  burden  of  this  world. 
The  brave  apparel  of  its  swelling  pride 
I  here  discard,  resigning  all  its  pomp, 
259 


Nay, 


COLLECTED    POEMS 

Its  purfled  show,  and  strutting  pageantry. 

And  I,  who  clothed  me  in  its  trumperies, 

And  waxed  on  all  its  fustianed  vanities 

As  flaunting  weeds  upon  the  mucky  earth, 

These  many  and  gross  years,  pitiless 

Now  scythe  the  rank  and  vicious  growth,  whose 

bane 
So  long  infected  all  the  blood,  and  killed 
The  tender  shoots  of  virtue  in  the  soul. 
Behold,  Xenares,  how  the  sober  dawn. 
In  ghostly  vapours  creeping  up  the  east. 
Unmasks  the  glamour  of  the  dying  night. 
And  on  the  sodden  ashes  of  our  feast. 
That  flamed  in  furious  riot  this  little  while. 
Spreads  pale  and  gray  as  ghastly  death 
Upon  the  face  of  one  who  yields  his  soul. 
So  pass  the  sudden  heats  of  time,  the  lusts 
Of  appetite,  the  hunger  of  possession. 
Ambition's  passion,  love's  desire, —  all. 
Yes,  all  that  men,  unrecking  lower  things 
By  higher  lights,  set  heart  upon  below. 
Mere  bavin  for  the  fiery  tongue  of  change. 
Scarce  kindled  ere  in  ashes!     I've  seen 
This    night,    Xenares,    through    high    Heaven's 

mercy. 
That  which  has  shaken  all  my  soul  and  torn 
From  out  its  ancient  roots  my  tree  of  life 
260 


The    FEAST    of    THALARCHUS 

To  plant  anew  in  other  soil,  with  hope 

Of  fruit  celestial !     For  now  I  know, 

My  soul  illumined  by  that  kindly  beam. 

The  deep  philosophy  of  poverty, 

The  wealth  of  having  naught,  the  precious  gain 

Of  self-surrender,  riches  infinite. 

Out  of  the  nothingness  of  this  base  earth 

Transmuted  in  th'  alembic  of  God's  love! 

'Tis  this  I  seek.     Farewell:  I  go, 

Xenares,  and  return  no  more. 

XENARES 

My  lord,  my  lord! 


261 


JUL  23192! 


50  tn- 


f 


y/J.t 


MUL26  1928 


345199 


YC160894 

^VERSITYOFCAUPORNUUBRARv 


